A Shot in the Dark
by Silver pup
Summary: AU — When he opens his eyes again, he finds himself in his old bed in his old home in his old body. Is this death? Or a trick of magic? Either way, Bilbo recognizes a second chance when he sees one, and this time his adventure with Thorin is going to go a bit differently.
1. Prologue

**A Shot in the Dark**

Summary: (AU) When he opens his eyes again, he finds himself in his old bed in his old home in his old body. Is this death? Or a trick of magic? Either way, Bilbo recognizes a second chance when he sees one, and this time his adventure with Thorin is going to go a bit differently.

Author's Notes: Every fandom needs a go-back-in-time-and-change-shit story. I'm happy to get the ball rolling.

Pairings: Thorin/Bilbo.

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**P**rologue

* * *

When he opened his eyes, it was to the sight of a familiar ceiling of a familiar home.

When he sat up, he found himself in his old room. It was not the room that he had left behind in Bag End as a withering old man—_and condemning Frodo with the fate of that damn ring_, his mind viciously reminded him—but a room from a lifetime that had long past. It was a room that he had immediately changed when he had returned home with a passion fueled by the stubborn Baggins determination to outrun painful memories.

It was the room he had before he left for Erebor.

_Is this a cruel jest of magic or the afterlife?_ he wondered, staring with an open mouth at the room around him. When he had last closed his eyes he had been on a boat on his way to the Undying Lands. This was not what he had been expecting. Eru could not be so cruel as to cast him into a place that reminded him of so much.

When his searching eyes fell upon the full-length mirror, he very nearly fell out of his bed. For what he saw in it was not the familiar wrinkled face he had grown to know, but a young one that he had nearly forgotten.

Shaking, he scrambled out beneath the mountain of blankets and quilts and stumbled over to the mirror. Grasping the edge of it, he stared at the face of the young hobbit before him. He drank in the smooth and freckled skin, the thick brown curls and wide honey-brown eyes, and felt something in him crack.

"I'm young again," he said aloud, watching the face in front of him repeat his words. "I'm young again and in my old house in Bag End before I went to Erebor and—"

Understanding dawned over him and brought him to his knees. He recalled now, a story from long ago, of a hobbit lass that had watched her beloved die due to an accident. When she awoke the day after his funeral, she found herself reliving the days before the accident and was able to save her beloved from his cruel fate.

He did not know what manner of powers had given him such a choice, or what he had done to deserve such a rare and wonderful gift. But what he _did_ know was that there was to be a war over an ancient ring. This war would bring death upon all the races and a change to all the lands for the first time in centuries. From this war great heroes would rise from each race, and with each great hero an equally great villain would rise up to meet them. This war would be fought and won at the hands of four hobbits; one of them being his precious Frodo. And though this war would be won because of the strength of his nephew, it would also forever change the lad in ways he had never wanted.

What he also knew was that, at that exact momen,t there was a dragon sleeping in a glorious dwarven city under an equally glorious mountain. This city was stolen by the dragon for its treasures and had driven out the great people who had built it. He also knew that at that exact moment a certain dwarven king was doing everything in his power to reclaim it. And with the help of twelve other dwarves, a wizard, and a hobbit, this king would embark on a journey that would change them all. In this journey he knew that he would create a bond with each companion and eventually even come to love the stubborn king. But before he was ever able to speak of his feelings, he watched this great king die in battle after just reclaiming his home from the selfish dragon.

And damn if Bilbo Baggins was going to let all of _that_ happen **_again_**.


	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**C**hapter **O**ne

* * *

Gandalf observed the hobbit before him most curiously.

As far as hobbits went, he seemed no different from any other. He was of the average height and build for his race which was short and dense. He was dressed as most hobbits were: in a simple but modest attire of a button down shirt, trousers, and no shoes. His thick hair was properly trimmed around his face and he smelled of clean soap and fresh bread. As far as appearances went, Bilbo Baggins seemed very much a respectable hobbit.

Too bad he had never put much stake in appearances.

"Good morning," he greeted pleasantly, planting his staff into the ground and leaning against it slightly.

The hobbit glanced up at him from beneath his thick brown curls. He stared at him for a moment with light brown eyes—Belladonna's eyes—before a wide smile broke out across his face.

"Good morning, Master Gandalf," Bilbo returned, raising his pipe in greeting.

Gandalf's brows met his hairline. He had not expected to be recognized, least of all by the very one he had sought out. "You know me, my young friend?"

"Of course. My mother spoke very highly of you until the end of her days." The hobbit took a puff of his pipe and blew out a lazy smoke ring. "We Baggins never forget a friend, you know. Even one we have not seen in decades."

"Indeed." He did not know if he was to feel happy, proud, or surprised by these turn of events. The perplexing feelings made him want to smile widely for it had been far too long since he had last been this entertained. "Since you seem to know me so well, might I ask you a question?"

Bilbo waved a hand. "Ask away, good sir."

He leaned forward and tilted his hat up so he could meet the young hobbit's eyes full on. "I am looking for someone to share an adventure with. Would you care to be that one?"

Bilbo's polite expression did not change but he did put his pipe down in his lap. "Perhaps. But first tell me more of this… adventure."

This time, Gandalf did not hold back his smile.

* * *

Once Gandalf was on his way with a promise to return for dinner, Bilbo calmly stood up and walked back into his home, shut the door and locked it, and then proceeded to have a minor break down.

_Oh sweet Eru, I can't believe I just did that,_ he thought, leaning his back against the door and slowly sliding to the floor. It had taken every ounce of self control not to break down and tell the wizard every little thing that was to happen with Thorin and company, Frodo and the ring, and even of Saruman and his betrayal. And to have to look into the face of his oldest and dearest friend and _lie_… Bilbo wasn't sure how he was going to face the rest of his (_dead_) companions if he couldn't even face _Gandalf_ for five minutes.

_Stop it, Bilbo. You can do this. Just remember why you are telling these lies in the first place,_ he reminded himself firmly. _You made a plan now stick with it!_

After recognizing the rare opportunity he had been given—and having a mental breakdown over the possibilities—Bilbo had constructed a plan. It was a very basic plan that followed one line of thought: do not let anyone die again. He had made it simple because he realized that he could not change _every_ little detail of their journey just because it suited him. There were certain events that had to happen—like Thorin's battle with Azog—even if he didn't like them.

Though he was still on the fence about the troll situation. Being used as a troll handkerchief had not been his finest moment.

But his true problem lay not in making a plan, but in acting on it. It was easy to say that he would do this and that when the time came, and he had no fear that he would fail to act when it did. No, the real challenge lay in reliving days he had already experienced with people he already treasured, but who would see him as nothing more than an outsider.

How was he to look upon the faces of his dear companions once more, to see them again before age and death had taken their toll, and pretend that they were nothing more than a stranger to him? How could he laugh and smile with them while knowing that three of them would never live to see their home restored to its former glory?

How was he supposed to lie and pretend that he did not mourn a lifetime away for their dear leader…?

"Stop that, Bilbo, you old goat. You don't have time for a pity party," he scolded himself out loud, shaking his head. He gave himself a light smack on the cheek and forced himself to his feet and marched to the kitchen.

He did not have time to wallow in doubts and insecurities. He had thirteen hungry dwarves to prepare dinner for.

* * *

From what he recalled, the first dwarf to arrive would be Dwalin.

The first time he had met the burly and blunt dwarf, Bilbo had been rightfully intimidated. Tall for his kind and equally robust, Dwalin was easily the most menacing dwarf he had ever met. Because of this fear he had skirted around him like a mouse the entire time it been just the two of them. It was only later on in their journey, after he had gotten to know Dwalin better, that he had been told that by acting so skittish, he had not only had lessened his worth in the dwarf's eyes but also reinforced every reason why Dwalin didn't trust outsiders.

That was why he was going to do things a bit different this time around.

That evening when his doorbell rang, Bilbo calmly stood up and went to answer his door. When he opened it, he found the burly dwarf standing dressed in the same gold belt and green cloak he recalled from so long ago.

"Good evening," he greeted, giving Dwalin a wide smile. "You must be one of the dwarves Master Gandalf mentioned. I am Bilbo Baggins, and you are welcome in my home. Do come inside."

Dwalin stared at him for a moment, clearly at a loss, before giving a jerky nod and stepping inside. "My thanks. I am Dwalin, son of Fundin. Where's the kitchen?"

"I have prepared dinner for all of us. Come this way." Bilbo turned around and walked back to his dining room, knowing the dwarf would follow. When they entered the room, he heard a quick inhale of breath and smirked.

"I hope this will be enough to feed you and your fellows. I do not know how much dwarves need to eat but we hobbits love food," he said casually, rolling his head back to get a good look at Dwalin's face.

The bearded dwarf looked taken back and he had every right to be. Every inch of his table was covered with food. Chicken, goose, fish, cheese, bread, smoked ham—he had not held back for this meal. He had done so because he recalled quite well how much this group could devour in one sitting. So instead of waiting for them to raid his larder like the last time, he had pulled out all the food he had stored away, paid a visit to the market nearby, and cooked up a feast fit for a small army.

Or, in this case, thirteen dwarves and one wizard.

"I… this looks like a fine meal. I'm sure the others will enjoy it greatly," Dwalin finally commented, pulling his gaze away from the table to give him a squinty-eyed glare. "Why did you do all of this? It must had taken you hours."

"Why, because you are my guests! I don't know about you dwarves but we hobbits always treat our guests with the upmost respect. And in this case, that means feeding them until they are no longer hungry," he scolded, giving the dwarf a glare.

He wasn't really bothered by the question because it was such a _Dwalin_ thing to do to be suspicious over a good meal. However he did so enjoy making the dwarf look guilty over questioning his good intentions.

Bilbo could admit that he had grown into a devious old hobbit.

"My apologies. I just… was not expecting to be treated to a feast." Dwalin tilted his head and stared at him with an open and frank expression. "Do all hobbits really do this for their guests?"

"Well, not all of them. Some of them can be quite rude and stingy," he admitted, recalling his (distant) cousins the Sackville-Baggins. "But I am not one of those and neither are most of my family members. Now come, pull up a seat and get started. I'm sure the others will be here soon enough."

Dwalin gave him another questioning look but did pull his cloak off and took a seat against the wall. He stabbed at a piece of fish and gave it a quick sniff before shrugging and digging in for a good, long meal.

Bilbo leaned against the wall and watched him. Dwalin had been a dear companion but he had not been the dwarf he had been particularly close to. Instead, Dwalin had been Thorin's right hand and dear friend throughout their travels. He could never bring himself to be jealous of their familial bond but he did regret never building a bond himself with the dwarf.

But then, he regretted not doing a lot of things in his life.

"Are you going to eat or stare at me?" Dwalin growled, never pausing as he tore the meat off a chicken bone.

Bilbo jumped slightly before giving an awkward laugh. "Ahh, I'm sorry. I'm just curious is all. Never met a dwarf in person after all."

Dwalin snorted. "Hmp. Well, you'll get an eyeful soon enough."

_Oh, how very true._

There was a solid knock on his door that made him jolt. He had forgotten that the rest would soon be following. "Ahh, I'll just get that. You continue eating."

Dwalin gave a grunt in answer but did not look away from his meal.

Bilbo headed to the door, straining his memory for who it would be. Other than Dwalin arriving first and Thorin arriving last, he could not quite recall who came between. Shrugging, he opened the door and found another tall dwarf with a battle axe strapped to his back standing before him.

It was Balin.

—_the last time he see's Balin is before he sets out for Moria. His old friend has aged well and looks so very eager to set out on his newest adventure. He invites Bilbo to come along but he declines since he cannot leave Frodo on his own just yet. So instead they spend the evening laughing and recalling the humorous parts of their journey while keeping silent of those days that were not so wonderful_—

"I think it's going to rain later," Balin commented, staring up at the sky.

"Really? I hope it clears up by dawn then," Bilbo returned automatically even as he felt his throat tighten up at the familiar voice.

Balin laughed and turned to face him. He looked the same as Bilbo remembered with his prematurely white hair, twinkling dark eyes, and kind smile. The sight of his old friend made that crack in him widen even more.

"Oh, yes, that would be good. Hate to begin our journey trudging through the rain," Balin agreed, stepping into the hobbit-house. Bilbo stepped back and allowed the dwarf entry before closing it behind him.

"I am Bilbo Baggins," he introduced. "Please make yourself at home."

"Ah, my thanks, my thanks. I am Balin, son of Fundin. Wonderful home you got here. Very warm and cozy," Balin said cheerfully, unwinding his cloak. "I have never seen the inside of a hobbit-house. I was expecting something a bit draftier to be honest—"

"Balin!"

Dwalin had apparently heard his brother's voice and had ventured out of the dining room to find them. Bilbo watched the two brothers greet one another and realized, for the first time, that the two had most likely not seen one another for years. Living on whatever work they could find meant that they most likely had gone separate ways in order to make a living. It was just another reminder of what his dwarven companions had been forced into due to Smaug.

"Come; there's dinner waiting for us," Dwalin said, guiding his brother back towards the dining room.

"Oh, excellent! I wondered if there would be food here," Balin commented cheerfully.

Bilbo watched them go and played with the idea of following them before dismissing the thought. He would allow them the chance to catch up without having to worry about eavesdropping hobbits. Besides, he needed a chance to compose himself. If seeing Balin left him feeling unsteady then he could only imagine how he would feel seeing the rest.

He rubbed his forehead and patted his cheeks a few times before he felt composed again. It was just in time too as there was another knock on his door. This time it was harder and louder as if two fists had beat upon it.

_Two fists. That surely means it's…_

With a heavy heart, Bilbo opened the door again and this time found two young dwarves standing on his doorstep. One was clearly older with his gold hair in braids and a beard that was only now long enough to braid. The other was taller with dark hair and only the barest hint of facial hair. Both were well-armed and wearing identical impish grins.

"Fíli and Kíli at your service!" they greeted in unison before giving a short and jaunty bow.

—_when he finally finds the two brothers, he finds a sight that will haunt him for years to come. Kíli lies on his back with his eyes closed and his young face ghostly white. There are arrows impaled in his chest and his lifeblood has created an ocean beneath him. Fíli lies close to him on his chest with a sword wedged into his back. One hand is stretched out to his brother's hair, his face and blank eyes still fixed on Kíli. Even in the end he still tries to protect his little brother_—

"Bilbo Baggins," he returned quietly, the crack in his heart now a full-blown gap. "Pleased to meet you both. Please come inside and join the others for dinner."

"There's food? Great, I'm starving!" Kíli pushed past him without hesitation, practically bouncing into the house with all the energy of a pup. He began to pull off his weapons and drop them into one of the chests that Bilbo had discreetly left out for them.

Fíli followed at a more sedated pace but with all the confidence and grace that could only come from youth. He too began to strip off his weapons and left them in one of the chests all the while taking in the house around him with his blue eyes.

"Bit bigger than I thought it would be," Fíli commented, beginning to pull out his stash of knives.

"That's cuz you thought hobbits lived in holes in the ground with the mud and worms," Kíli mocked, reaching behind him to pull off his bow. His hand waved in the air for a few seconds before Fíli reached over and lifted the end up so he could grasp it and pull it off.

"I knew they lived in houses. Just didn't think they would be this big. Didn't think _hobbits _were this big," Fíli retorted, flashing a smirk at Bilbo.

Kíli snickered, spinning around to face Bilbo and then suddenly pausing. The impish smile slid off his face and his dark eyes widened.

"Oye, Mister Baggins, you alright? You look a bit unsteady there," he said, reaching out a hand as if to catch Bilbo.

_Alright? No, I'm not alright. I saw you **die** with your brother. I saw you die trying to defend the uncle you loved so much. I saw you both die and now here you are again—alive and whole and so very, _very_ young._

Bilbo choked back a sob and gave Kíli—_smiling, bouncing, fiery, _alive_ Kíli_—what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Oh, yes, I'm fine. Just feeling the day catching up to me, you know? Why don't you two head to the dining room for dinner? Dwalin and Balin have already arrived."

Kíli hesitated, brown eyes flickering over him before he finally shrugged and turned away. He wandered off to find the dining room with Fíli trailing after him; also shooting the hobbit a confused look, but unlike his brother he did not press for an answer.

Bilbo waited until he heard the joyful sound of greetings echo through his house before he finally allowed himself to fall back against his door for the second time that day. Never, in all his years, had he ever imagined such a pain as he felt when he looked upon the brothers Fíli and Kíli. To see them as they once were—brilliant and beautiful and so very full of life—and know that fate that awaited them …

He could not afford to fail. Seeing those two just made his resolve even stronger. No matter what, he would see that every one of his companions survived the Battle of Five Armies.

Even if it cost him his own life.

There was another pounding knock on his door. The strength of it rattled both the door and the hobbit, and he knew that, barring Thorin, it was the rest of the dwarves.

And so Bilbo straightened up, steeled himself for the chaos, and opened the door.

He was then promptly thrown to the ground as an avalanche of dwarves fell on top of him.

* * *

"Do you suppose I broke something?" Bilbo asked Gandalf as he was looked over and prodded.

The wizard made a considering sound in the back of his throat. "Unlikely. But you will have some bruising. Possibly be sore tomorrow."

Bilbo winced. He was not looking forward to riding with a bruised bum. "Lovely."

"I am again very sorry, Mister Baggins," Bombur—large, clumsy but sweet Bombur—apologized again for the fifth time since tripping and causing all the dwarves to fall onto the hobbit. "I'm not the most graceful dwarf on his feet."

"That implies you ever had grace to begin with," Dori—who was just as gruff and grumpy as he recalled—muttered, rubbing the front of his head where a clear, red bump could be seen.

Bombur visibly wilted like a flower without sunlight at the remark, and Bilbo felt his annoyance rise at the sight. "Come now, it was an accident. He apologized for it and meant no harm. Let it go and move on."

Dori stared at him, clearly startled by the sudden rebuke while Bombur simply gawked. At the corner of his eyes Bilbo could see a few of the others also staring but paid them no mind. He recalled quite clearly how mean and downright vicious the dwarves could be to Bombur simply because of his size and clumsiness. He had no intention of allowing that to continue again especially when he knew exactly how capable a fighter Bombur was, and how equally good of a friend.

An arm was swung around Bilbo's neck and he suddenly found himself in the familiar hold of Bofur. The dwarf wore the same ridiculous hat and scarf that he remembered so well with his mattock at his back.

"Aye, our host is quite right. Now is not the time to lay blame," Bofur commented, smiling the dimple smile that he was known for. His eyes though were steely as he leveled them upon the older dwarf before him. "After all, we've all made mistakes and took a tumble or two, yes?"

Dori rolled his eyes but did not disagree. Instead he pulled himself to his feet and made his way to where his two brothers sat already eating, clearly done with the conversation.

"Forgive dear Dori. Afraid that he's a bit of a grump most days," Bofur commented lightly, patting the hobbit on the shoulder and releasing him. "My thanks for standing up to him though. Sometimes he forgets not everyone is as stone hearted as he is."

"I'm sure he has his reasons," Bilbo pointed out, not about to pick sides in the obvious pissing contest. He knew that his dwarves would all eventually become as close as brothers—but that would not happen until they started their journey, and had a chance to build those relationships. For now all they were to each other were comrades with the same goal. The real bonds would not develop until later.

"Aye, that he does, that he does," Bofur agreed, slowly nodding while obviously studying the hobbit. "Good of you to recognize that. And… thank you for sticking up for my brother."

"You're welcome. He did not deserve such a comment over something to small," he said honestly, giving the still silent Bombur a smile.

The round dwarf smiled back slowly while Bofur grinned without restraint.

"Well said! Now, I think it's time we join the others before they eat everything in sight, and leave us with nothing but the crumbs!" Bofur declared, tugging his brother towards the table of food. Bombur followed without complaint.

Bilbo watched them go before turning his gaze to the wizard beside him. Gandalf looked considering as he studied the hobbit. It was a look he remembered well having seen it every time he had done something that was not expected of him.

"You seem confused, Master Gandalf," he commented, leaning back against the chair he had been dragged to after being at the bottom of a dwarven pancake. "Something on your mind?"

"Ahh, it's nothing. Simply the ponderings of an old man," Gandalf dismissed just as he expected him to. Even as good friends, the wizard rarely revealed his inner thoughts to him. "So what do you think of our current company? Not quite what you were expecting, I would think."

Bilbo turned his attention to the collection of dwarves centered around his table. Dwalin was engaged in an arm wrestling contest with Glóin—whose resemblance to his son was uncanny now that he saw him as a young dwarf again—while Fíli and Kíli and Bofur cheered them on. Balin was in a deep discussion with Bifur—who still indeed had the old orc axe embedded into his forehead—that seemed to involve Khuzdul and much hand gestures. Bombur had gone straight to eating next to the young and smooth Ori and quiet Nori. Óin—in his familiar brown cloak—was engaged in trying to eat as much food as possible while Dori next to him tried to avoid the spittle of stray food.

It was all such a familiar sight of energy and life that Bilbo could not fight the warmth that overtook his heart. In all his worry and nostalgia, he had forgotten that there had been good times too on his journey. That these dwarves had showed him a new aspect of life that was passionate and intense and so very different from the lazy and slow life of a hobbit.

"They are… something else. Not what I was expecting, certainly, but that's what makes them so grand. I do not think they would be so mesmerizing if they were anything else but this," he said honestly, never looking away from the group.

He could feel Gandalf staring at him and knew that there would be a comment to follow. But before the wizard could even open his mouth, there was a great pounding on his front door that made every dwarf go silent.

Gandalf slowly rose to his feet and gave the others a knowing look.

"He's here," he announced, and Bilbo's heart _stopped_.


	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**C**hapter **T**wo

* * *

Bilbo found that he could not breathe.

Every second seemed to turn into an hour as Gandalf stood and headed to the front door with the dwarves following. He could only watch from his chair as they disappeared around the corner, and listened as the door was opened and greetings were exchanged. When his ears caught the sound of a familiar baritone, he found his breath suddenly returning to him in quick gasps.

_He's here. He's here, he's here, he'sherehe'sherehe'sherehe'shere—_

Suddenly, he found that did not want to face Thorin again after all. He did not want to face the dwarf that had lingered in his thoughts and heart for decades. He did not want to remember the days he spent mourning, wishing with every inch of his being that Thorin had survived that final battle. He did not want to remember how much his heart had ached, how many times he had lost himself in memories and daydreams of what could have been.

_I can't do this. I can't. How did I ever think I could face him again?_ he wondered, rising to his feet and heading out of the room. _I have to leave. I have to get out of here before they come back. I have to—_

Bilbo found his thoughts cut off as he collided with something large and solid. The impact sent him stumbling back, and he would have fallen if not for the hands that latched onto his biceps. They wrapped around his arms like iron vines and hoisted him straight up so that that his feet just barely graced the floor.

Without thinking, his eyes went to his savior's face and he found himself facing Thorin again for the first time in eighty years.

—_Thorin's body is as cold as ice in death. His face has been cleaned of the blood and gore and his hair has been brushed back neatly from his face. In the dim candlelight, his skin looks so very pale and waxy. He never stirs, never moves and the realization that he will never see that face smile again hits him with a brutal force that brings him to his knees_—

"So this is the hobbit," Thorin commented, tilting his head to the side and regarding him with his narrowed eyes. "He—

—_"If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world," Thorin gasps, blood leaking from his pale lips as he struggles to draw breath still. "But, sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell…"_—

"—grocer than a burglar," Thorin finished, glancing to his left to give Gandalf an unimpressed look.

"And you are very rude for a king," Bilbo said before he could stop himself.

Thorin paused and the air suddenly became very still. "Excuse me?"

"I said that you are very rude for a king. I have invited you and your companions into my home, and have provided food and shelter for the night. A king should know to treat such a host with gratitude instead of mockery," Bilbo said without pausing to think. If he stopped to think for even a moment then he would remember, and if he remembered then he knew he would not be able to keep up his façade any longer.

Thorin slowly turned his gaze back to him. His face looked as if it had been carved from stone for it was so serious and still. Only his eyes blazed out as bright as blue flames. Dwarves by nature were intense and passionate beings but Thorin always took it to another level. He was a dwarf who never felt, never spoke or performed an action that did not consume him wholly. That intensity had always made itself known most through those fever bright eyes of his.

_I had forgotten how intimidating his stare is_, Bilbo thought to himself absently.

"You are correct in that. I thank you for the hospitality you have provided for us," Thorin finally said, surprising the hobbit. The dwarf released him and he took a few steps back the moment his feet touched the floor again.

"You're welcome," he returned automatically. He looked past the king at the other dwarves—some of whom were looking at him with dropped jaws—and towards the dining room. "There should be some food left if you are hungry. I'm sure the others would be happy to show it to you."

"Aye, Thorin, there's a lot of food still. Come this way," Balin bid, gesturing for him to follow.

Thorin turned and followed the other dwarf with some of the others. Bilbo could not watch them go and instead turned on his heel and marched back to his room with a muttered excuse to the others. He did not stop until he was in his bedroom with the door safely locked up tight. Once there, he covered his mouth and began to sob.

Oh, to look upon the face of the one he adored most in the world… Bilbo felt as if someone had just reached into his chest, wrapped a hand around his heart, and _squeezed_. In all his fantasies where Thorin was alive again, he was always happy and relieved and overcome with bliss. There were never any suppressed memories or quiet sobs. Only smiles and laughs and promises to never leave again.

But then, that was the difference between reality and fantasies. His fantasies never quite lived up to his reality.

_How am I supposed to survive another journey with him if I can't even face him without crying?_ he wondered, wiping his eyes clear with one hand. When he had made his plan he had done so with the confidence that he could endure meeting his deceased companions once more. He had foolishly overestimated his own strength.

A light knock on his door had him springing to his feet.

"Bilbo? Are you quite right in there?" asked Gandalf from beyond the door.

"Ah, yes, I'm fine," the hobbit replied, quickly scrubbing his face clear of tears. "Is there something you need, Master Gandalf?"

"We are going to go over the details of our expected journey. I thought you might like to hear them," Gandalf replied.

Bilbo quietly cursed the considerate wizard in his head. He was hardly presentable or stable enough to look upon Thorin and the rest so soon. But staying locked up in his room would only invite suspicion. So with a heavy heart, he made himself as respectable as possible and unlocked the door.

Gandalf stared down at him, his dark eyes gleaming from beneath his heavy brows. "My dear hobbit, are you quite sure you are well? You seem… distraught."

_Distraught? No, I am not distraught. Just an old fool with too many regrets and a stubborn heart that refuses to heal._

But Bilbo did not voice those thoughts. Instead, he gave his old friend a strained smile that felt false even to him. "I am fine, Master Gandalf. Quite fine. Now, why don't we head to the others? You said we have must to discuss, yes?"

Gandalf did not look convinced but did not push him. Yet.

"Indeed, Master Baggins, indeed. We have much to discuss," the wizard agreed, turning and leading him back to the dwarves.

_That, my old friend, is truer than you know_, Bilbo thought as he followed the wizard back to the source of his greatest joy and heartache.

* * *

Bilbo did not pay much attention as the dwarves and wizard gathered around the ancient map and went over their mission. Instead he spent his time subtly studying the others and trying not to stare too obviously as Thorin. It was admittedly very hard.

—_"You have proven yourself a loyal friend to me time and time again. For that you have my eternal gratitude," Thorin swore, clasping him on the shoulder. His hand is large and covers most of his shoulder and he can feel the warmth of the dwarf through his own thin clothing_—

"I do not have the skills to find it, but there are others in Middle Earth who can," he heard Gandalf comment as he leaned over the table.

—_Thorin did not sing often but when he did everyone stopped and listened. His deep voice never failed to invoke images of gleaming halls, blazing fires, and a never ending ache for a home that was long lost_—

"Gandalf will have fought hundred of dragons in his day!" Kíli exclaimed somewhere further down the table. An argument soon followed but he did not hear the words.

—_"I've never been so wrong in all my life…" Thorin suddenly moved forward and wrapped him in a hug that swept him off his feet. He returned the hug instinctively; curling his hands into the fur of the king's coat. It had been a long time since he had been hugged_—

"—lbo? Bilbo!"

Bilbo jumped slightly as a hand landed on his shoulder and dragged him from his memories. He found Gandalf staring down at him in concern.

"Are you well, Bilbo?" the wizard questioned.

"What? Of course, of course." Bilbo leaned back and waved the concerned wizard away. "Sorry, just dozed off there for a bit. What were you saying?"

"We were discussing your position as our burglar," Thorin filled in, staring at him with a look that said he wasn't impressed with what he saw. "Master Gandalf here seems sure that you will be a worthy asset to our company. The rest of us do not agree."

"Understandable. It's not like any of you know me or seen any of my skills," he agreed, carefully avoiding looking directly into Thorin's eyes. "But I can assure you that I will do my very best to help you all on this journey. That is all I can say in my own defense."

Gandalf smiled while the dwarves murmured amongst each other and considered him carefully. While he knew his words did help him slightly, the only way his dwarves would believe him capable would be when they actually saw him in action.

"If you are in my company then I will do my best to watch over you as I do the rest. But I cannot guarantee your safety or life," Thorin pointed out, still watching him with those blue, blue eyes.

He nodded, pleased with such an admission. "Good. I do not want you putting your life ahead of my own. If it ever comes to a point where it is my life or yours, you must always choose yourself."

"Bilbo!" Gandalf cried, aghast.

"No!" Bilbo cut him off before the wizard could begin. "Do not argue with me about this, Master Gandalf. I am a simple hobbit from a simple line with no spouse or child to depend on me. If I perish would it _really_ make a difference in the grand scheme of things? No, it would not. But Master Thorin here is a king and leader of his people. He must live in order to reclaim their home from this dragon. To put it simply, his life matters more than mine."

At this point, all the dwarves were staring as if they were not quite sure what to make of him. Even Thorin looked taken back by his sudden admission. Only Gandalf seemed disturbed by his words.

Bilbo honestly did not care if his old friend agreed or not. He knew, in the grand scheme of things, that he was important to the world but only to a certain point. His destiny had been to find the ring and carry it to Frodo, who was destined to destroy it. But since he had every intention of never letting that damn ring be in the same _city_ as his precious nephew, he believed his importance in such a matter was diminished.

Besides, he had a plan for the ring and knew it could quite possibly cost him his life. But that was a risk he was willing to take if it saved Frodo from his own cruel fate.

"Looks like the hobbit has made up his mind," Dori pointed out, giving Bilbo a look he could not read.

"Yes, it seems that way," Thorin agreed, his face returning to the blank mask he was most familiar with. "Balin, give him the contract and see that he reads and signs it."

As Balin went about pulling out the contract, Bilbo found himself under the intense gaze of Gandalf. The wizard was clearly perplexed by his behavior and eagerness to engage in the adventure ahead. He knew that his old friend would be suspicious, and those suspicions were likely to grow with the coming days.

However, no matter how much his friend pressured him, Bilbo knew he could not yet tell him the truth. The lives of those he held were too important for him to risk even to Gandalf. Until he was assured that Thorin and the others would live and the ring was once more in his possession, only then would he break his silence and reveal the truth to the wizard.

Until then, he was keeping his mouth shut.

* * *

"Mister Baggins… what are you doing?"

Bilbo glanced over his shoulder and found Ori standing behind him. The young dwarf was fixated on the sign that he was bent over.

"Oh, I'm putting up a sign to let my neighbors know where I've gone," he explained, lifting the board up to the dwarf so he could read it himself.

Ori leaned closer and squinted at the curvy letters. "'I have left on an adventure. If I do not return in two years then I leave my home and everything in it to my cousin Drogo Baggins on the conditions that neither he, his wife nor any of their children ever set foot in or near Brandywine River. To my Sackville-Baggins relatives, I leave nothing. Seriously, keep them off my property and away from my mother's fine china.' Mister Baggins, why did you write such an odd sign?"

"Because if I don't then when I return home my things will have been ransacked and my greedy relatives would be living here," he explained, setting the board down. "This is the only way I can keep them away. I'll hang it on my door outside before I leave."

Ori just looked at him as if he had claimed the moon was made of cheese. "Are all hobbits like you?"

"What do you mean? What am I like?"

"Well, you're so… open. Friendly. And nice. Very, very nice," the youngest dwarf clarified. "Most races don't like anyone outside their own race. But you don't seem to mind at all that we're dwarves. Are all hobbits so… accepting?"

"Well, no, not all hobbits are so open to outsiders," he admitted, recalling some of his more suspicious and mistrustful cousins. "But I don't believe in that. I believe that every race has something to offer the world. You simply must give them a chance to show you."

"And… what about the ones that don't give you a chance?" Ori's voice was quiet as he twined his fingers around the soft wool scarf that hung from his neck. Standing there, Bilbo was struck by how young and innocent Ori truly was at that moment.

—_it is Gandalf who tells him of the fates of Balin, Óin and Ori. He speaks of a tomb and a final stand and a book that Ori had written of their journey. He listens to every detail and at the end he cries for his brave friends who died such lonely deaths so far away_—

"Then you do not want their friendship. If they cannot see past your appearance and into your character, then it is their loss," he replied, resisting the urge to throw his arms around his (living) friend.

Ori ducked his head and smiled as a light blush began to make its way up his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. He had forgotten, over the years, how sensitive and sweet Ori had been at this age.

—_after the final battle, he spots Ori standing over the dead with clenched fists and pursued lips. He does not speak to his brothers as they try to explain that death is a natural outcome in war. He only stares on at the corpses with eyes that look too old on a face so young_—

"Would you like to help me wrap up my fine china?" Bilbo asked impulsively. "I want to put it away so it won't get damaged or stolen while I'm gone."

Ori looked surprised and then delighted. "Sure! I like to help. Just tell me what you need done."

He knew that. Ori had always expressed joy in being able to help in any manner. As the youngest on their quest, he had often been overlooked for his inexperience and coddled and protected by his brothers. This time around he would see that Ori did not get forgotten. He would help the youngster grow on this quest for he would surely need such experiences if he was to survive Moria with Balin and Óin.

"Great, then come this way. I think the others left the dishes on the table." He gestured towards the dining room and then watched Ori practically skip to the room. He followed while making a silent vow to himself all the while.

_Ori, you are yet another friend that I will see survives the death that awaits you. I cannot allow anything else._

* * *

They left the Shire at the first light of dawn.

With the barest hint of sunlight peeking over the trees, Bilbo nailed the sign onto his door as the dwarves behind him stood by and watched. He heard Balin reading it out loud for the others, and smirked when they roared with laughter.

"Not very fond of these Sackville-Baggins is he?"

"Did you see him and Ori wrapping up the plates last night? I was wondering why. Now I know it's because of greedy relatives."

"When it comes to sticky fingered kin, the best thing you can do is pretend you have nothing."

"Wonder what the big deal is about this river. Is it a hobbit thing to ban relatives from water for an inheritance?"

"Wish I could see the reaction of these Sackville-Baggins. Bet it would be a riot!"

"Enough." Thorin did not need to raise his voice to become the center of attention. "Are you done yet, halfling?"

Bilbo stepped back and regarded his board for a moment before nodding. "Aye, I believe so."

"Then let us be off. We have a long way to go," the king-in-exile ordered, already beginning to march off.

Bilbo waited until the rest of the dwarves followed their king before turning to take in his home for what could possibly be the last time. When he had last left it, he had done so as an old man at the end of his years. Now he was still the same old man but this time he faced the future with a chance to actually change things. With that in mind, he did not know if he would survive the journey this time around. He did not even know if he would change anything for the better or worst.

But what he did know was that he had a chance and he was going to take it.

_I bid you all farewell for now. I hope that the next time I return here, it will be with a better story to tell,_ he mused before finally turning and following his dwarves out of the Shire and into the start of their quest.


	4. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**C**hapter **T**hree

* * *

Dwalin had never met a hobbit before.

They never left their homes and he had never traveled so far northwest before so it was understandable why he had never seen one before. Not that he cared, really. He had met enough races in his life at this point and all of them turned out to be made of the same cloth—a greedy, hateful, and ugly cloth.

But Bilbo Baggins was… different.

It was not his kindness and generous behavior that threw him off. He had met others before who were kind to dwarves—stemmed from pity more than anything else, bastards—and it was not his willingness to go along on their quest either. Being promised a reward from the coffers of Erebor would motivate anyone, after all. No, what threw him off was none of the actions of words that the hobbit performed or spoke.

It was simply the way he looked at them.

For most of his life, Dwalin had been regarded by other races as a stupid, greedy and devious barbarian. He had grown used to being seen as something lesser just because he was shorter than men, and sported a beard that he was sure the weed-eaters were simply jealous of. He never liked it and never would, but he had come to accept it as just another fact of life.

But Bilbo Baggins did not look at him as if he were scum or trouble. He did not look at him with pity or mistrust. He did not even flinch in fear of his weapons or beard or many, many scars. No, he did not do any of the normal things that Dwalin had come to accept and even expect.

Instead, Bilbo Baggins looked at him the same way a lad looked at his first weapon. As if he was something wondrous and amazing and unreal.

It was unexpected.

He did not know Bilbo Baggins. He had done nothing to earn such a look from the hobbit. He had not even been friendly or even kind to the hobbit! Dwalin did not understand why he deserved such looks.

However, for all his confusion, he could not deny that some part of him was… pleased. It had been so long since anyone—even among his own kind—had given him such a look. It made him feel as if was worth something once again. That he wasn't just a wandering old dwarf looking for a home, but a mighty warrior with the blood of an ancient line running through his veins.

_Rather funny, really_, he mused, glancing behind him at the humming burglar riding along on the pony. _Never thought a _hobbit_ could make me feel like a _dwarf_ again. _

* * *

Bilbo had never enjoyed riding. Oh, he liked the animals themselves well enough, and had grown quite fond of a few ponies during his time traveling. But the riding itself he did not enjoy. Hobbits simply weren't meant to be removed from the ground in any manner.

Unfortunately he was stuck riding for the time being. They had left the Shire behind and were well on their way to Erebor. In that time, Bilbo had found himself growing more and more used to seeing his once dead companions alive and merry. The sharp ache in his heart had died down into a tolerable pinch, and the memories of another life no longer plagued him at every turn. Now he could at least face Fíli and Kíli without flinching or wanting to burst into tears.

But for all his progress, he found that he still could not face Thorin. The leader of their company hadn't paid him much mind, and had spoken no more than a few words to him in passing. But even those few words had been horribly awkward for him as he struggled still to see this Thorin as his own person instead of a memory.

It was difficult but he wanted to move past his own memories and feelings to build a fresh relationship with Thorin. He had always believed that their friendship had been one that helped shape him into the hobbit he was today. So regardless of his one-sided feelings, he wanted to recreate that friendship.

Oh, but it was _hard_. Not only was it still difficult for him to simply look at Thorin, the dwarf himself was incredibly difficult to get close to. The last time around he had to _throw himself in front of a group of orcs_ just to get the king to _smile_ at him. This time around he was sticking to talking with the latter being a last resort.

It was not only Thorin that he found himself struggling to win over. He noticed Gandalf had been watching him with that same look he used to (and eventually would again) give Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took whenever they got too close to the fireworks. He was expecting such a look but that didn't mean he enjoyed being mistrusted by his oldest friend.

"Mister Bilbo, would you like to taste the soup?" Bombur asked, pulling him from his thoughts. The redhead was sitting before a large pot and stirring it with a look of concentration on his pleasant face. Bombur had always taken his cooking very seriously.

"Of course." The hobbit carefully took the ladle handed to him and took a sip of the soup. It was a simple meal of meat and broth but the spices brought it to life. "Delicious. Do I detect a hint of parsley?"

Bombur beamed. "Aye. Parsley and basil, to bring out the lamb. I believe I detected a hint of rosemary in the beef you served us, yes?"

"Yes, from my mother's herb garden. She was an excellent cook and had a way with plants. I took over care of the garden after her death, but I'm afraid I lack any real skills. It was enough that I kept them alive."

"I'm sure your mother appreciated the sentiment," interjected Bofur, flopping down between the two in a graceless heap. He hijacked the ladle from Bilbo and finished the rest of the soup in one gulp.

"Mmm. I'd say it's ready to be served," he informed his brother, handing the ladle back. "Shall we call the others?"

"Not until Mister Bilbo gets his portion," Bombur declared fiercely, already scooping some up into a bowl. "The rest will devour the soup without any mind to our smaller comrades."

Bofur nodded in agreement while the hobbit in question scowled.

"You do not need to treat me any different from the others," Bilbo said. "Other than our difference in species, I really am no different from the rest of you. I don't need special treatment."

Bombur ignored his words and simply handed him a bowl. "Here you go. Eat up now."

"Don't bother arguing with him. Once Bombur makes a choice, he sticks with it," Bofur explained as he grabbed his own bowl and held it out to be filled.

"Oye, are you eating without us?"

Fíli and Kíli joined them around the pot of stew; both slightly out of breath from sparring. Most of their company had been watching them and either taken to yelling out suggestions or cheering them on. Bilbo recalled them doing such a thing often the last time around though he couldn't remember if there was ever a winner.

"Why did you start serving without telling me? You know how hungry I get kicking Fíli around," Kíli complained, reaching over to swipe a taste of Bilbo's soup with two fingers.

"Hey! Didn't your mother ever tell you that's it's rude to put your fingers in other peoples food?" Bilbo complained, attempting to smack the wandering fingers with his spoon only to miss.

Kíli widened his eyes and bit his lower lip in a manner that he recognized all too easily. He remembered the young dwarf pulling such a move to get his way or to makeup whenever he did something foolish. Unfortunately for him, that face only worked on his brother and uncle.

"Don't even try those eyes on me. I lived among _baby hobbits_. Come near me again and I'll crack your fingers," he warned, waving his spoon to get his point across.

Long lost friend or not, you did not come between a hobbit and his meal.

"Looks like our burglar has a pair after all," Fíli snickered as he went about the more sensible task of getting his own bowl of stew instead of trying to steal one.

"Obviously. How else could he have talked back to Thorin?" Bofur pointed out.

"And join us on our quest against a dragon," reminded Bombur.

"Which, by the way, I still don't get. Why _did_ you decide to come with us?" wondered Kíli, deciding to steal from his brother now after being shooed away from Bilbo's food. His theft was rewarded with a swift elbow to the side that was ignored.

Bilbo stirred his soup thoughtfully. Why _did_ he join them the first time around? Was it really just for an adventure? Or had their song and tale truly touched him? He knew that was why he had decided to stay later, and it was still important to him now.

"Well, it sounded like a noble task," he finally answered. "You lot… You don't have a home anymore. It was stolen from you. So I will try to help you get it back if I can."

The dwarves around him paused and stared at him with a look that was much like the one they had given him the first time around. It still made him feel horribly uncomfortable.

"You…" Bofur began only to trail off as the others began to join them for dinner. No one else mentioned his words for the rest night but the hobbit could still feel the looks they gave him, and it made him wonder what they could have possibly thought of him now.

Later that night, after the stew was finished and they had retired for the night, Bilbo awoke to the sound of wargs howling into the night.

The noise awoke the rest of his companions with grumbling and hissed insults as they all gathered around the small campfire. Bilbo joined them with his quilt wrapped around his shoulders and tried to contain his yawns.

"Are wargs common around these parts?" he questioned, rubbing his eyes with one fist.

"No. They usually don't come this far out," Bofur answered him, lighting up a pipe.

"Aye. They are used by the orcs as mounts and usually linger before Rivendell," Dwalin added, scowling.

"Think they'll bother us?" Ori wondered, eyes wider than usual.

"Not if we keep moving. We leave at dawn," Thorin commanded, stalking off to the edge of the cliffs to overlook the canyon below.

"He seems… angrier than usual," Bilbo noted, hinting to the untold story that he knew they all needed to hear.

"Aye. Thorin has more than enough reason to hate those foul beasts," Balin answered dutifully, and then launched into a heroic and tragic tale of an attempt to reclaim the lost kingdom of Moria from the dreaded orcs. He explained with great sorrow of how Thorin's grandfather, King Thrór, was beheaded by the orc Azog who was determined to end the line of Durin. With eyes lost in memory, he recounted of how he watched Thorin struggle to hold his own against a monster thrice his size, and how it was thanks to a simple piece of fallen oak that he managed to survive and cut off the beast's hand.

Bilbo listened to the familiar tale and watched his companions. Each dwarf seemed hypnotized by the story, and he realized that it was this moment that cemented their loyalty to _Thorin Oakenshield_ instead of just the King Under the Mountain. It was this moment that they all realized how much their king had lost and how hard he would continue to fight to reclaim it. He could see, in the way they all stood and turned to their king still standing on the cliffs, that they would follow the dwarf until the very end.

And so would he.

* * *

They traveled on.

The days continued to pass and Bilbo found himself becoming more and more at ease around his long-lost comrades. Soon he found that he could even meet Thorin's eyes without feeling as if he had been punched in the chest.

But the most startling thing he discovered was his youth.

Bilbo had forgotten how to felt to be able to walk without creaking and aching bones. Hell, he had forgotten how it felt just to be able to _move_ for more than ten minutes without feeling tired and out of breath. He had been an old man for so long—longer than he should have been thanks to the ring—that he had forgotten that there was ever a time that he was young.

It was an exhilarating realization.

"Um, Mister Bilbo, why are you walking along with the ponies instead of riding one?" Ori asked him one day as he guided his pony along on foot.

"Because one day I won't be able to," Bilbo replied, and earned an odd look for his remark. He easily ignored it, well-used to be being regarded as strange among his kin for most of his life.

Thankfully the rest of the dwarves didn't seem to care whether he walked or rode the pony.

Actually, he had noticed that other than Fíli, Kíli, Ori, Bofur and Bombur, the rest of their company never spoke to him or paid him much mind. He understood though that it was to be expected. Dwarves were mistrustful of outsiders by nature and until he proved himself the rest would not open up to him.

That was fine because it gave him a chance to focus on another problem: Gandalf.

Bilbo realized that he had to end the tense silence between him and Gandalf. He thought he could handle the mistrust and suspicion until they reached Erebor, but it was becoming too much for him. He had enough that he had to deal with and having Gandalf against him did not help.

So one night as the rest gathered around Bombur for dinner, he cornered the wizard as he sat alone on a nearby rock.

"Bilbo," the wizard greeted pleasantly even as his eyes gleamed dark under his hat. "What can I do for you?"

"You don't trust me," he stated bluntly, never one to beat around the bush even as an old man. "You think something is wrong with me, yes?"

Gandalf stared at him silently for a moment before slowly nodding. "Yes. Yes, you are quite right. You are hiding something from the rest of us, Master Baggins."

"Yes, I am," he admitted, watching as the nearby camp fire cast dark shadows across his old friend's face. It made him look quite menacing.

"I have to keep this secret for the moment," he continued on, "but only up until a certain point."

"What is the reason for this secret?" Gandalf questioned. "What are the consequences if you speak it?"

—_the dwarves begin to sing in low and deep voices as they bury the bodies of the three royal dwarves. The song is in Khuzdul and is beautiful and alien to his ears. The voices that resonate as one paint a melody that is heartbreaking with the grief that carries through. Their king and his heirs are gone and they mourn for all three_—

Bilbo closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. "The lives of those very dear to me are on the line. So until I know that they are safe and well, I will hold my secret to myself."

Gandalf's eyes widened as he took in the meaning of his words. Once he did, his face softened and the harsh line and wrinkles eased up in a way that made him look younger and kinder.

"In that case, I will not hound you for an answer and instead wait for you to come to me with one," he said, giving him the same smile he shared whenever Bilbo had done something foolish and attempted to make up for it.

It made his heart hurt a little to see it again in this life.

"Thank you, Master Gandalf. I do appreciate your trust in me," he replied, giving the wizard a small smile. "And I promise that it will not be misplaced."

_And I am sorry that I cannot speak to you of the truth. You are a good and noble person but you may make things worse in your attempts to help. I do not even know the consequences of my own actions at this point, let alone what you may cause. So all I can do is to try and change things and hope that my choices don't condemn us all._

Gandalf simply kept smiling his kind smile. "I'm sure it won't, Bilbo. I'm sure it won't."


	5. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**C**hapter **F**our

* * *

Before he had expected it, they had found their way to the trolls.

"We will camp here for the night," Thorin declared as they came upon the burnt hovel of what once was a farmer's home.

Gandalf paused and stared at the skeletal remains of the shack with furrowed brows. Bilbo knew he was recounting the farmer and was about to voice his concerns to the king. He silently inched closer as the wizard and dwarf began to converse.

"—should make for Rivendell. We would be most welcome by Lord Elrond—" Gandalf was trying to explain with obvious impatience and mounting anger.

"We will not!" Thorin cut off sharply, making a slicing motion with his hand. "The elves showed no interest in lending us aid sixty years ago, and I doubt they will now. Leave it alone, Gandalf."

Gandalf's lips became pinched and he tugged his hat down further over his eyes. The hobbit recognized the tell and immediately reached out to grasp the wizard's arm as he attempted to storm away.

"Wait a minute, where are you going?" Bilbo questioned, making sure to pitch his voice higher.

"To be with the only one here with any commonsense—myself!" the wizard declared loudly and tried to tug his arm free.

He wasn't having it. He dug his heels into the ground and gestured to the dwarves around them. "You cannot leave us here unprotected! What if we are attacked?"

"We are not unprotected," Thorin snapped from behind him. "You are among veteran warriors who survived countless battles, _halfling_, thanks to their great skills—"

"_I _have seen no such skills in battle," he interrupted, cutting the king off much in the same manner he had done earlier to Gandalf. "We have been on the road for weeks and not once have I seen any of you engage in a real battle. For all I know _you_ could be as skilled in battle as an _orc_ is at _knitting_."

Nearby, both Bofur and Nori had a sudden and mysterious coughing fit.

"No, I would feel much safer if there was a wizard present as we tried to puzzle out why this _house in the middle of nowhere was recently burned down_," he finished, stressing the last part because dwarves needed to have things spelt out for them. "And, Gandalf, you should not be wondering about alone considering we've been hearing _wargs howling for the past few nights_. Oh, and would you look at that—_the sun is going down_."

At that point, all the company had stopped and were watching the drama with mixed expressions. Most seemed quite close to laughing but were able to control it. Fíli and Kíli had given up any pretense at not finding the situation funny and were giggling into each other's shoulders like children.

Thorin had gone very, very still and was turning a light pink. He thought the shade complimented his eyes quite nicely but he didn't think the dwarf would appreciate the compliment at such a time.

Or any other time.

"Bilbo, would you truly feel safer if I were to stay?" Gandalf questioned, setting a hand in his curls. His face was a mask of concern but Bilbo could see the twinkle of mirth in his dark eyes. The wizard was most likely cackling inside.

"Yes, I would," he declared firmly, nodding.

"Then I will stay," Gandalf declared, looking up past the hobbit to give the dwarf king a glare. "For the moment, anyway."

Bilbo allowed his shoulders to sag in relief. "Thank you."

Thorin glared at both of them before snapping at his nephews, "Fíli! Kíli! Watch the ponies! Everyone else set up camp!"

The two brothers immediately stopped giggling.

He finally released the wizard as the dwarves around them began their tasks. Gandalf gave him a smile that he returned easily enough.

"You continue to surprise me, Bilbo Baggins," he commented, dark eyes twinkling. "I think we are in for quite an adventure."

_Oh, Gandalf, the real surprises have _yet _to occur._

* * *

When it came to delivering the meals to Fíli and Kíli, Bilbo volunteered first.

"I don't mind taking it to them. It will give me a chance to check on Mrytle," he explained to Bombur as he took the bowls.

"Very well then. But hurry back before your food gets cold," the cook advised, already setting aside a bowl of stew for the hobbit as the rest of dwarves descended upon the food.

He simply nodded and went on his way.

When he found the two brothers, they were arguing in lowered voices and taking turns hitting each other in the shoulder. He waited for them to notice him and when they failed to, finally cleared his throat to catch their attention. His action had them jumping and spinning around to face him with wide eyes.

"Gentlemen," he greeted, holding up their bowls of stew. "I have brought you dinner."

"Oh, would you look at that, Kíli, our burglar brought us dinner," Fíli said in false cheer. "How nice of him!"

"Oh, yes, very nice of him," Kíli agreed, nodding his head eagerly.

"We'll just take those off your hands then and you can go on your way," Fíli added in the same fake tone while reaching out to take the bowls.

Bilbo stepped back to avoid him and gave them both a deadpanned look. "What did you two do now?"

Fíli pulled back with a scowl. "What? I resent that tone. Do not just suddenly assume that we've done something stupid every time we're left alone."

"Though we did lose some of the ponies," his younger brother admitted.

Fíli immediately punched him in the arm. "Kíli!"

"Well, we did!" Kíli defended, rubbing his arm and scowling. "We might as well tell him since he's already here."

"You lost—? How many did you lose?" he demanded, setting the bowls down on a nearby log.

"Two," Fíli admitted with a frown. "We've been looking for them and we think they were stolen."

"By who? There's no one else out here but us," he said.

Kíli pointed to the upturned trees and wreckage of nature close by. "We think by whatever did _that_."

Bilbo followed his finger and raised both brows. "Oh dear."

* * *

He allowed the two brothers to drag him off in pursuit of the trolls much like the first time around. The only difference was when they arrived to where the trolls were camped, he did not allow them to immediately push him into saving the ponies by himself.

"I'm not going in there alone and without a plan," he reasoned to the two dwarves. "They are three trolls and I am just a little hobbit."

"You are also our burglar and known to be quiet. This would be a good chance to prove yourself to the others," Kíli argued.

"Or get myself eaten," he retorted with false sweetness. "Look, I will attempt to free the ponies if one of you goes back to tell the others of this, and one of you stays here to help me."

Fíli and Kíli looked to one another. The blond raised one brow while the other shrugged and gestured to his own clothes. Fíli nodded in answer and patted one of his many blades.

Bilbo watched the wordless exchange in interest. He recalled the two doing such things before but never gave much thought to it. But now he realized how in tune they really were if they could read each other's thoughts so easily through gestures alone.

_No wonder they died together in the end_, he realized with a sobering sadness.

"I will stay with you while Kíli gets the others," the older dwarf finally said.

"I'll be back soon," the brunet promised, getting to his feet and quietly sprinting back the way they came.

Fíli watched his brother disappear back into the forest before turning his attention back to the hobbit. "Okay. What's your plan?"

Bilbo smirked. "Well, first, I need to get captured."

* * *

It was rather easy to walk into the troll's camp without them noticing.

"Hello there," he greeted, waving an arm above him and jumping slightly to gain their attention.

The three trolls turned to him and were on their feet instantly.

"Lookit we have here," one said, reaching down to pick him up in a grip that threatened to break his ribs with the slightest twitch.

"What is it?" wondered another, leaning closer to stare at him. "I've not seen this before."

"I'm a hobbit," Bilbo said in a calm voice that contrasted with his pounding heart. "What are you three?"

"We… We're trolls," said the finale one, staring at him with a baffled expression. "Haven't you seen a troll before?"

"No. Haven't you seen a hobbit before?" he retorted.

The trolls just stared at him.

"Why don't you fear us?" asked the one holding him.

"Fear you?" he repeated, blinking a few times.

—_Smaug is large. Larger than a house, a bear, or even a mountain. He looms over him in such a way that he believes the dragon could block out the sun just from standing. He can see his reflection in one amber eye that is nearly as wide as he is tall. He realizes exactly how small and pale and pathetic he looks and it makes him cold_—

—_Thorin falls and does not get up. He does not move, does not flinch, does not stir. It makes something in him rise up and roar_—

—_the ring whispers promises to him; promises of freedom, promises of power, and promises of rebirth. He shuts the whispers away and tries to ignore the twisting feeling in his stomach_—

—_Frodo adjusts the mithril shirt that hangs to his thighs. It hangs awkwardly on his small frame and makes him look like a child playing dress up. When Frodo looks up to meet his eyes, he can see a strength in them that he himself has never possessed. That strength makes his heart stop because it is a strength that demands a life in return_—

"No," he said with a smile that he knew was as twisted as the vines in his garden. "No, I do _not_ fear you three."

The three trolls looked stumped.

"But… You should be afraid of us!" cried the second one, looking as if his world had been turned upside down.

"Yeah, you should be afraid of us!" the first one agreed, shaking him. Bilbo felt and saw his world turn upside down and tried to keep his food down.

"Let's put him in the pot. That should put the fear in him," the third—and smartest—one suggested with a smile that showed his missing and yellowed teeth.

"If you're planning to eat me, I would suggest roasting," he chimed in as they carried him back to their pot. "That way you won't lose the juiciness of the meat."

"You know how to cook?" questioned the third one, sitting down before his pot.

He nodded. "Oh yes. Tell me, how does your soup taste at the moment? Perhaps I could recommend some herbs and spices you could add."

The trolls stared at him and then at each other before the first finally shrugged and dropped the hobbit down before the pot. He picked up the wooden ladle and took a gulp of the soup and then twisted his face up into a snarl.

"That tastes awful! What did you put into it?" the first troll asked the third.

"The same stuff as always!" claimed the third troll as the second took a turn trying the soup.

"Oh! He's right that taste horrible it does!" the second troll agreed, throwing the ladle down and wiping at his tongue as if he could wipe the taste away.

The third troll finally tried the soup for himself and was soon enough gagging in disgust.

Bilbo slowly got to his feet and back away a few feet as the trolls began to gag and claw at their throats and then began to vomit. The first that grabbed him soon collapsed to his knees and began to choke on the blood and vomit that his body kept heaving. The second and smaller troll had already collapsed and was twitching and convulsing on the ground. The third was the only one who paid him any mind even as he too shook and retched.

"You… You hobbit you… Did something to the stew," the troll gasped, pointing at him and rising to his feet.

He pointed a finger at his chest and raised his eyebrows. "Me? Oh no, it was not me. _I_ did nothing to your soup."

"True. That would be me."

Fíli stepped out from the trees and moved to his side. He had a disgusted look on his face as he regarded the trolls before him.

"I can't believe that worked," he commented, wrinkling his nose as another of the trolls began to vomit again.

Bilbo nodded. He was also surprised by how easily the trolls had fallen for their trick. "Do you think we should put them out of their misery?"

Fíli studied the moaning creatures for a moment before finally nodding. "Yeah. Watch my back for a moment."

It was a testament of how sick the trolls had grown that they did not notice or fight the dwarf who snuck up behind them, and rammed his sword into the back of their necks. The only one who noticed was the third troll and even then his attempts at protecting himself were weak and halfhearted at best. Fíli ended his life easily enough.

As the blond took out the trolls, Bilbo moved to the back of the camp and began working at the ropes the held the ponies. Just as he undid the last knot, the rest of their company arrived at the scene with their weapons raised and ready only to stop short at the sight of the dead trolls.

"Fíli!" Kíli easily leaped over the puddles of mess and bodies and made his way to his brother. "Did you do all this?"

"Not alone," his brother replied, wiping his blade clean. "It was a joint attack."

"What happened?" questioned Thorin, also making his way to his nephew's side but at a more sedate pace.

"We poisoned the trolls," Fíli replied with a simple shrug.

The dwarves and wizard stared.

"With what?" Balin wondered.

"Monkshood, deadly nightshade, rosary pea, and castor oil," Bilbo listed.

"Where did you get such plants?" Óin demanded as Nori and Bombur gaped. They were the only three who seemed to realize exactly how lethal the plants were.

He gave them a look of exaggerated surprise. "Why, the trails we've been traveling of course. It's not hard to find them if you know where to look."

"So you picked these plants and then poisoned the trolls with them?" Kíli summarized, looking at his brother for approval.

The blond dwarf shrugged. "Pretty much. Our burglar here distracted them while I snuck in and stirred the ground herbs into their stew. Then he tricked them all into tasting it and the rest… well the rest is obvious."

The dwarves and the wizard continued to stare.

"Mister Bilbo… How did you distract the trolls?" Ori wondered softly, his eyes wide.

"Ha! That's the best part. All he did was walk up and talk to them!" Fíli gloated. "I nearly fell over when I saw he let them pick him up. And then he even advised them on how to cook him!"

Ori's eyes grew even wider. "Wow, Mister Bilbo, that's so brave!"

Bilbo shifted, feeling uncomfortable at such praise. He wasn't brave, not really. Gandalf was brave. Thorin was brave. Frodo was brave. Hell, _Samwis_e was brave. But him? He wasn't brave. If he was then he wouldn't have sent his nephew into Mordor with _his_ ring.

"Bilbo, why would you do such a thing on your own?" Gandalf asked with a frown that spoke of his worry and disapproval.

He shrugged. "They were about to eat our ponies. We did not have the time to wait for you all."

"Then you should have sent Fíli to distract them and you snuck up behind them. He is the more experienced fighter between you two," Balin pointed out.

"No. I would not risk Fíli in such a way," he said firmly, giving them all a stern look. "He is too important to chance over something I could handle myself."

The dwarves grew silent at that. All except one.

"Why did you pick these plants?" Thorin wondered. For once he did not look at Bilbo as if he were dirt beneath his boot. Instead, he looked thoughtful as he gazed at the hobbit with his fire blue eyes.

Bilbo swallowed the lump in his throat as he met the intense look head on. "Because I am a hobbit. I am no warrior or master burglar. I am just a hobbit and I must protect myself through my own means. This is one way that I have chosen to do so."

Thorin stared at him for a moment longer. He could not read what the dwarf thought of his words, but he could tell that for once the king was not annoyed by him. The hobbit decided to count that as a large step in the right direction.

Finally Thorin looked away and waved to the rest. "Scout the area. Let us find out exactly how these trolls found their way here."


	6. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**C**hapter **F**ive

* * *

Balin was troubled.

He many things to trouble over in his life. The fates of his scattered people. The safety of his brother and cousins. Their quest to regain their home from Smaug. The safety and state of mind of his friend and king, Thorin. He was even troubled over the wisdom of bringing along Ori, Fíli, and Kíli on such a suicidal mission.

But mostly, he was troubled by Bilbo Baggins.

There was something… off about the hobbit. Not that he knew much about hobbits to begin with, but from what he heard and read, they were suspicious folk that preferred their home to travel and unknown adventures. It was very rare that any would ever leave their home in the company of dwarves for a land far away and unknown. So all in all, Bilbo Baggins was nothing like the stories suggested.

But it wasn't the hobbit's unexpected personality that troubled him.

It was the way he treated them.

Bilbo treated each of them with a healthy amount of respect and warmth that none of them had expected. From hosting a grand feast in his home to subtly protecting Fíli from the trolls, he had shown nothing but kindness and understanding for them.

And it was beginning to worry him.

None of the dwarves knew the hobbit. None of them deserved to be treated so highly. Hell, Bilbo barely knew Fíli and yet he was willing to risk his life to protect him from _trolls_. No one, no matter how kind or wise or noble, would do such a thing for a stranger.

_So why did Bilbo Baggins do it?_

Balin didn't understand. He did not understand the strange hobbit that followed them so easily and fought for them with a fierceness unheard of. He did not understand why the hobbit looked at them the same way a dwarf looked at the glory of his treasures.

And that was the most troubling thought of all.

* * *

Bilbo was pleased.

His plan with the trolls had gone over well. When he originally thought of how to deal with the trolls, he had been tempted to leave things alone. But as he thought more and more about his situation, he realized that the consequences of his actions could change something significant. So he decided to test things by changing something he knew wasn't too important.

While he did feel bad about having to poison the trolls—no one deserved to die in such pain, after all—he was pleased with how things had played. So far everything had stayed true to his expectations—they had found the troll cave, discovered the swords, buried the chest of treasure, and he even got Sting from Gandalf. It was a sign that even though he changed an event, he could still expect some things to stay true to their nature.

Like a dwarf's suspicious nature.

He wasn't stupid. He knew his actions with the troll had earned him both suspicion and respect. He had held his own again three trolls and that deserved respect. But the way he had done it—through trickery and deceit—was frowned upon. Dwarves believed that facing ones foes in battle was the honorable and bravest course of action to take. Sneaking around and taking them out from behind was seen as cowardly and weak by every dwarf in the company.

Well, almost every dwarf.

"That was a clever way to take out the trolls."

Bilbo looked up from examining his new (old) sword and found Nori watching him. With the trolls gone and their cave investigated, Thorin had decided to take a small break before they headed out again. Most of the dwarves were preoccupied with their new treasures and paid him no mind, but Nori had broken off from the group and had taken a seat in front of him on a fallen tree.

"Thank you," he replied politely, nodding. "I know it was a rather gruesome manner but I needed to act quickly to save the ponies."

"I'm not knocking your method," the dwarf assured. "It was clever and it got the job done. That's all that matters."

"Yes, true enough though I don't think most of the others agree," he said lightly, watching the other. Nori had always been a mystery even the first time around. Much like Dwalin, he had kept to himself and his brothers and had only occasionally sought the company of the others. Bilbo could not remember ever having a conversation that consisted of just the two of them.

Nori shrugged dismissively. "Most of my kind do not see the benefit in catching an enemy off guard."

"But you do?" he prodded.

"Some battles are better won with guile and stealth," Nori answered with a smirk. "It is a philosophy that I have come to appreciate in my line of work."

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. "And what is your line of work?"

"Very much in line with your own job," the dwarf answered. "Only I don't steal items but collect information."

"You sound like a crook," he pointed out.

Nori cracked a grin. "An apt enough description."

"Interesting. I didn't think our leader would welcome a criminal," he commented.

"Thorin understands the value of information," the dwarf explained. "Besides, he holds himself responsible for the criminals we've become."

He had not known that. "Why? He can't control the choices other dwarves make."

"No, but he can control what pushes them to make those choices," Nori explained calmly. "We did not only lose our home when Erebor was taken. We also lost our jobs and way of life. We became the outcasts who survived on the fringe of society. To survive and feed our families and ourselves, we were forced to take on jobs that we would never have considered in our old lives. That is what Thorin blames himself for."

_He holds himself responsible for not providing his people with a home and respectable jobs_, he realized. He had not known that Thorin took so much responsibility for his people onto himself. It explained even more of the king's determination to reclaim Erebor. He was not doing it simply for honor and familiarity, but to also save his people as well.

"Thank you for sharing that with me," he told the dwarf before him. "I know it cannot be easy to share such vulnerable information with a stranger."

Nori shrugged. "If you are willing to fight and die with us, then you might as well know _what _you're really fighting and dying for."

He smirked slightly. "Yes, it is good to know I'm chancing being incinerated for a good cause."

Nori didn't laugh but he did crack out another grin as he got to his feet. "Yes, well, just thought you should keep that in mind."

He watched the other turn to go when another thought occurred to him.

"Nori?" When the dwarf paused and gave him his attention again, he continued, "What did you used to do? When you lived in Erebor?"

His answer was a bittersweet smile.

"I was a part of the city watchmen. I used to protect the streets from criminals."

* * *

They continued on.

Bilbo kept account of the days diligently. From his account, they would reach Rivendell in June and he was curious to see if it kept this time around. So far nothing drastic had happened following the days after the incident with the trolls. He could only hope that it stayed so until they arrived at the elven city.

He used most of his time on the road getting his companions to warm up to him. Most of them still ignored him but he had noticed that a few—namely Dwalin and Dori—would give him a look very similar to one a farmer would give a stray cat. As if he could be useful to them if they gave him a chance but at a risk of getting clawed.

The only ones he had seemed to won any merit with over the trolls were the youngest ones: Ori, Fíli and Kíli. They had taken to telling him their own stories of daring and bravery that were really nothing more than youthful escapades. Still, he listened to their stories and enjoyed their energetic animations as they recounted each detail with passion.

The enthusiasm actually reminded him greatly of Merry and Pippin. The memory of the two impish cousins in turn reminded him of the others he had forgotten. In his haste to make things right, he had forgotten what he had left behind in his other life. Did they still exist the way he left them? Or was another future being rewritten thanks to his every action?

Bilbo could admit that part of him regretted changing some events. He knew that if ensured the survival of Drogo and Primula, then he would never have the same relationship with Frodo this time around. And while it killed him to sacrifice such a relationship, he also knew he could not deny Frodo a chance at a life with his parents.

—_the first few months Frodo is with him he does not let Bilbo out of his sight. He follows him into every room and watches his every move with large blue eyes. He never attempts to stop it or discourage the child because he remembers what it's like to lose your parents before their time_—

No. Bilbo knew he was selfish in many ways but not in this one. Not with Frodo, whom he would give the world if he had only asked.

But he was terribly selfish in other ways.

When he had made his plan to also destroy the one ring, he knew that it would come at a cost. By destroying it before its time, certain events would never transpire and some would never be challenged. King Elessar would never realize his true strength if Sauron was not there to test him. Legolas and Gimli would never overcome centuries of prejudice and hate of their species to forge a legendary friendship without the ring there. Samwise, Merry and Pippin would never rise to become the great hobbits they never knew they could be if they had not made the journeys they did.

And Frodo would never carry the burden of the ring.

It was the last one that got to him the most. Before he had left, he had heard the heroic songs that spoke of his nephew's strength and bravery as he carried the one ring to Mordor to be destroyed. Scribes wrote of his journey with detail and painted him as a noble and determined hero who only wanted to save his home and people. In every nation the common people said his name with joy, and praised him as the most famous of heroes.

But what no one ever spoke of was what came after the journey. No bards sung of the nightmares and sleepless nights. No scribe recounted the scars and frowns. And no one ever spoke of the haunted look in those eyes or the broken slump in his shoulders.

—_there is a price to pay in carrying the ring. __Gollum paid with his mind, he paid with his heart, and Frodo paid with his spirit_—

It was a difficult choice but he would make it. Bilbo understood now that he was never meant to be the hero in any tale. Those roles were meant to be filled by people like Thorin and Gandalf and Frodo. Instead, he was would be the selfish and greedy villain in this story if it meant he could spare Frodo, and even Thorin, the horrible fates that awaited them both.


	7. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**C**hapter **S**ix

* * *

Bilbo realized something was wrong when he heard the wargs howl.

The entire company did not hesitate. They had their weapons out and were ready before he could even stop and think. Their efficiency paid off for no sooner had they heard the howl there was a warg leaping out from the foliage and heading straight for Thorin. The king dodged and ran his new sword into the back of the neck of the creature in one move. As he pulled his blade out, Dwalin and Bofur were running their own weapons into the creature and finishing it off.

"Orcs," Thorin cursed, wiping his blade clean.

"How did they find us?" Balin wondered at his side.

"Who did you tell, Thorin?" Gandalf demanded of the king, and the two soon erupted into an argument.

Bilbo ignored them all as he felt his heart begin to pick up speed. _The last time around _Radagast _was here when the wargs attacked. Why isn't he here _now_?_

"I swear I told no one!"

"What do we do? We can't take them all on at once."

"We need a plan."

_Could I have done something that prevented him from coming? Did keeping Gandalf around during the troll incident do this? Wait, never mind that, Bilbo. Focus on the orcs. Without Radagast here, we won't be able to get away._

"How far is the nearest settlement?"

"There is nothing out here but us and the orcs!"

"Why are we arguing about this? We should stand our ground and fight!"

_The elves. Elrond is leading a company of elves this way. We simply have to hold on until then._

"We can use the area," he declared loudly over the arguing dwarves and wizard. "Station those with long-ranged weapons in the trees. Those with melee weapons need to take cover and wait for the orcs to come. If we can kill them before they alert the others, we can keep them away from our location."

Most of the company ignored his words but Thorin was gazing at him in consideration. He met the blue gaze evenly and tried his best to ignore the pounding of his heart.

"We cannot fight them all at once. You know that their numbers will be too great," he pointed out.

Thorin slowly nodded. "And there is no place to take cover in the coming plains. This is the only area with trees and covering."

"Wait, are we actually considering this?" Glóin demanded, looking back and forth between the king and hobbit.

"Do you have a better idea?" Kíli retorted, already eyeing up potentially trees to climb.

"We make our stand here. Everyone take position," Thorin ordered. "Halfling, stay with Bofur."

Everyone moved to a position without question. Even Bilbo could not bring himself to retort to the 'halfling' comment as he moved to crouch in some shrubbery with the toymaker.

"Stay within in my sight. I will do my best to protect you," Bofur murmured to him.

"Funny. I was about to say the same to you," he murmured back, unsheathing Sting.

On his other side, Bombur snickered and even Bofur cracked a grin.

Three orcs riding wargs found them soon enough. Bilbo watched from his position as Kíli and Ori took out the warg it rode while Nori, Dwalin and Fíli attacked the orc. Another was ambushed by the others; Thorin neatly beheading the orc before taking out the warg with the aid of Gandalf, Balin and Glóin.

The third wandered closer to them, the warg clearly sniffing them out. He felt Bofur and Bombur stiffen on each side of him as Sting begun to glow a familiar bright blue. He could feel how fast his heart was beating and wondered if the orc could hear it too. It certainly seemed that way as the warg turned and looked through the foliage and straight into his eyes. It bared its teeth in a twisted snarl and crouched low as its rider turned its attention to them.

He did not wait for the warg to attack. In battle, you took any opening the enemy gave you with no hesitation. Pausing for even a second could be a matter of life and death. He'd learnt that the hard way.

So without any warning to his companions, Bilbo charged.

The warg had clearly not expected it. It pulled back, ducking his blade and growling deep in its throat. He followed through with another swing before throwing himself to the side as the orc rider tried to cleave his head off. He stumbled only once before catching himself in time to bring Sting up to block the hungry mouth that tried to rip his face off.

The warg bit into his blade and tried to pull it away. He dug his feet into the loose dirt beneath him and pulled back. Before the warg could successfully pull his blade away, a mattock was slammed into its face; shattering its skull open in a bloody mess and making him jerk free and stumble back.

Óin caught him before he fell as Bofur yanked his mattock out of the dead warg. The orc had been knocked down by a combined attack from Kíli—who was still perched in the trees—and Bombur and Bifur. As he watched, Bifur stabbed the orc in the chest with his spear as Bombur cleaved his knife into its back. In moments the orc laid as still as its pet.

"All right there, Master Baggins?" Óin questioned, leaning in to hear him with his good ear.

He nodded, feeling his blood rush and his breath catch. "Y-Yes, I'm all right. Thank you."

"Didn't expect you to go charging off like that," the healer commented with a wry grin. "Threw us all off for a moment."

"Yes, well, I can't very well sit back and leave everything to you lot. Might get me killed if I did," he reasoned.

Óin cackled and patted him on the shoulder. "In that case, we will leave the next one to you."

He gave the older dwarf a dirty look. "That wasn't a challenge—"

"Move!" Bofur ordered, coming up from behind them and pushing them both back. "More orcs are coming."

Bilbo went silent and tightened his grip on Sting. Soon enough, more orcs appeared; this time five with only three riding wargs. Kíli and Ori did not hesitate at the first sign and began pelting the wargs while the others ambushed the rest. He saw Fíli twirl out of the reach of an orc with his twin blades singing as Dwalin swung one of his axes into the legs of a warg. Beyond them, he could see Glóin and Nori fighting back to back against two orcs.

_They need help_, he realized, and then once more charged into the fray without another thought.

In combat, Bilbo found that time slowed down until every second felt like an hour. He knew that even though the battle—or skirmish, really, considering some of the scrapes they would get into later—felt like it lasted for hours, he knew it was only a matter of minutes.

Before they could finish off the five orcs, even more appeared to aid their brethren. He soon last track of how many orcs there were and who was fighting who. Soon he even forgot where he was and what he was doing. All he could focus on was each strike, each blow, and each dodge as he struggled to hold his own against the orcs and wargs.

_Eru is this how it will really end? Here before we even start?_ he wondered.

An arrow in the forehead of the orc above him was his answer.

"Elves!" Kíli announced from the trees, his voice a mix between surprise and disgust. "There are elves coming!"

Bilbo felt his shoulder relax as the thunder of hooves became audible. Nine riders soon came charging into the clearing with arrows flying and swords raised high. With the extra aid, they soon enough turned the tide of battle and finally cut down the orcs and wargs.

As the last orc fell, the elven riders began to disembark as the dwarves moved to check on one another and huddle in suspicious groups. He watched Dori hover over Ori while Balin patted Dwalin on the back as they chuckled over something. Nearby he saw Kíli jump down from his tree and rush to Fíli's side and spotted Bofur speaking to Bombur and Nori. Beyond them he could see Óin looking over a protesting Bifur.

_Where is Thorin?_ he wondered before his eyes finally found the king.

He stood scowling next to Gandalf as the wizard spoke to a very familiar elf. Lord Elrond looked no different since the last time he saw the elf. His face was perhaps less weary and jaded this time around, but it was no less finely crafted with a masculine beauty that he had never seen in any other race.

He could not hear the conversation they were having but could guess the subject from the dark look on Thorin's face. Gandalf was clearly trying to convince the king to head to Rivendell for rest and aid in reading the map. But from the stubborn set of his jaw, Thorin was clearly not having it.

Eventually Elrond stepped forward and said something that made Thorin pause and scowl. Eventually he gave a grudging nod that won a loud sigh from Gandalf and a small smirk from the elf.

_Hmm. Why do I have the feeling Elrond offered him food?_

"Everyone get ready! We will be joining… the _elves_ for dinner tonight," Thorin said in obvious disgust.

He snickered as the rest of his companions let our disgruntled groans.

It was good to know that, even in the midst of so many changes, some things like appetite would never alter.

* * *

Bilbo had seen many beautiful and wondrous sights in his life, but the most wondrous of them all would always be Rivendell.

The last time he had seen it he had been an old man with eyes half blind and a mind half gone. But now he looked upon it with clear eyes and a sound mind and it made him want to weep at the sheer beauty of it all. From the graceful curves of architect to the majestic glory of nature, Rivendell was a masterpiece in every way. He could only stand there and silently admire the genius and artistry that went into creating such a place.

It was a shame that his companions didn't agree.

"Ugh, look at that water. How do they not drown themselves in it?"

"Soddy architect. That roof is going to collapse one of these days."

"They're wide open in a valley! How have _they_ not been invaded by a dragon yet?"

"What's with all the trees? Are they trying to become one with them or something?"

"I hope they have ale here."

He ignored all the snide comments and simply took in the city that had been his home in his later years. It seemed brighter and warmer than the last time he had seen. But then, the last time he had seen Rivendell most of the elves had left the fair city for good. Of course there would be no life to a home when there was no one there any longer.

Elrond left them with an attendant who silently escorted them all to a wing of rooms. His dwarves muttered and glowered at the elf and the rooms but Bilbo ignored them and thanked the attendant. After all, it was not _his_ blood that carried centuries of hatred and mistrust.

"Don't get too chummy with the elves," cautioned Óin from his side as the elf left. "You never know when they'll turn around and stab you in the back."

"I doubt they would do that to me. I'm not so important," he reasoned calmly, watching as the others explored their new rooms with guarded interest.

Óin snorted. "Indeed. Well, now that we're here, take off your shirt."

Bilbo turned around and stared. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your shirt, laddie, take it off. I need to check your wounds," Óin explained impatiently, tugging at the bottom of his coat.

"What wounds? I don't recall getting hurt," he said, pulling his clothes free of the handsy dwarf.

"That's because the rush of battle dulls the pain," Óin retorted. "Now off before I pull it off for you."

Bilbo sighed and began to strip. He knew that when it came to matters of healing, it was better to simply obey the older dwarf. Even Thorin knew better than to go against the healer's orders.

When his upper body was finally unclothed, Óin wasted no time in examining each scratch and bruise that marred his flesh. The last time around he would had been greatly embarrassed to be so exposed in a room full of healthy and hardy dwarves. A hobbit was hardly as firm and chiseled as an average dwarf and nor were they as tall and exquisitely made as an elf. Being around such races had made him feel quite plain and awkward the first time around.

It was not so now. Not when he recalled quite vivid memories of being wrinkled and withered and as frail as a piece of parchment. This time he had a new appreciation for his fifty-year-old body with its firm skin, thick curls and strong bones.

"Hmm. Looks like a warg got you on the shoulder blade," Óin commented as he examined his back.

"Really?" He craned his head back and caught a glimpse of four red scratches going across his back. "Huh. I didn't even notice that."

"Like I said, the rush of battle dulls the pain," Óin reminded. "Now hold still while I clean it out."

Bilbo hissed as he felt the healer dab something cool onto his wounds. It stung but did not hurt as bad as some of the other injuries he had endured.

"What does that do?" he asked.

"The herbs in the tonic will keep it from becoming decayed and expanding. It will also ensure that the scratches heal and leave behind less of a scar."

"Scars don't bother me but it's good to know it won't get worse. I would hate to get sick so early on in our quest," he said snidely.

Óin simply chuckled. "Good attitude. Try to remember that when you get burned by the dragon you're robbing."

* * *

Dinner with the elves went much as he recalled the first time around. There was music, good food, and much grumbling from the dwarves. He spent most of his time during dinner listening to the snide remarks being muttered and trying not to laugh too loudly. When dinner ended, he watched Thorin leave with Elrond, Gandalf and Balin and the rest of the company head back to their rooms.

"Mister Baggins, where are you going?" Ori asked when he noticed him walking in another direction.

"Ah, just for a walk. I want to explore this place some more before we leave," he explained with a smile.

"Oh, okay. Would you like some company?" Ori offered though he looked hesitant to wander off through an elven city.

He shook his head with a gentle smile. "No, that's needed. You go on with the others. I'm sure I won't be long."

"Okay. Have fun," Ori bid before scampering off to join Dori who was waiting for him.

He waved goodbye to the dwarves before turning on his heel and heading to his real destination.

Rivendell was known to keep a library that housed a collection of books that anyone could read. It was there that he had conducted most of his research into the elven language, and it was there that he had composed most of his writings. And it would be there that he would find what he was looking for.

_Now where would they keep it?_ he pondered when stood among the collection of writings. _Hmm. Art, poetry, language, politics… ah-ha! There it is!_

He made his way to a small bookshelf and began to search through the elven titles until he finally found the one he was looking for.

"Mordor," he whispered, pulling the book out and skimming through it quickly. He was the only one in the library but he did not know how long that would last. He had to be quick or he risked getting caught.

He found the page he was looking for in the back of the book. It was old and slightly outdated but it was still a good rendition of a map to Mordor. Carefully, he tore the page out and wrapped it up and slipped it away in his coat. He just as quickly placed the book back where it belonged and headed to the door; eager to be away from the place and out of suspicion.

So quick he was in his haste that he nearly walked straight into Thorin in the corridor.

"Oh!" He stopped short and jumped back slightly. "Pardon me, I didn't see you there."

"Not surprising considering how quick you were moving," Thorin pointed out with the barest hint of dryness in his tone. "What were you doing in there?"

"Oh, I was just looking at their books. They have a great deal of them," he lied, tilting his head up to get a better look at the king.

In the dark halls the only source of light came from the half moon above them. The pale moonlight made Thorin's skin gleam ivory and brought out the silver threads in his black hair until it shone like mithril, and made his eyes shine like fresh cut jewels. The sight made his stomach clench up. He had forgotten, over the many decades, how beautiful Thorin really was. Or perhaps it was his love that made the king look so achingly gorgeous.

"Were you injured?" he blurted out before he could think. "Earlier today, I mean. When we fought the orcs."

Thorin blinked a few times. "No, I was not hurt."

"Oh. That's good," he said awkwardly.

Since the journey started, he had not held a conversation with Thorin alone. Partly because they were constantly surrounded by the others, and partly because Thorin had honestly displayed no interest in talking to him. But after some silent weeks, Bilbo found himself aching for a chance to speak to the dwarf alone. There were so many things he wanted to ask him; things they never got a chance to speak of the first time around. But now, standing before the object of his affections, he found that he could not recall a single question.

"Indeed." The dwarf glanced down before his eyes flickered back up to his face. "I noticed Óin attending to an injury on your back. Is it serious?"

"Huh? Oh, you mean the scratch," he said, subconsciously reaching behind to touch the bandaged wound. "It's fine. It was only a little scratch."

Thorin's expression did not change but his shoulders relaxed slightly. "That is good to hear. You fought well today, Master Baggins. I had not expected that."

"Thank you," he replied instinctively. Manners were as entwined with the Baggins blood as curiosity was in the Tooks. "You were very impressive as well."

"More impressive than an orc is at knitting?" Thorin asked archly.

Bilbo was taken aback by the tone and comment before he grinned. "I'm sorry but are you complaining about what I said? Master Thorin if I offended you—"

"You did not offend me over a simple comment, halfling," Thorin interrupted with a scowl. "It was simply… a challenge. To me. To prove to you that I am a skilled warrior."

He bit his lower lip to keep from smiling. "Aye, you did. I will never doubt your skills again."

"Good." Thorin pulled his shoulders back up slightly. "Well, come along then. I will escort you back to the rooms. Try not to wander around alone. There's no trusting what our _host_ may be up to."

"Do you ever consider forgiving the elves?" he asked as they began to walk back to their rooms.

"No," Thorin answered bluntly with a scowl. "I will not."

"Why? I mean, I can understand why you wouldn't forgive Thranduil—"

"How do you know of him?" the dwarf demanded.

Bilbo gave him a look that he hoped conveyed how silly of a question that was. "Because I asked the others? I wanted to know the details of this quest so I asked around. Anyway, as I was saying, I understand why you wouldn't forgive Thranduil but what about the other elves? Why hate all elves for the wrongdoings of a single elf?"

"There is a saying among men that I've heard several times that I find fitting. 'Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.' To trust an elf again means risking my people again. That is not a risk I can take," Thorin said firmly.

"You know, being this grumpy and serious _cannot_ be good for your health," he grumbled under his breath before stopping as the dwarf next to suddenly stopped walking.

Thorin looked at him with his dark brows furrowed. "Why do you constantly talk back to me?"

"Because you're not my king?" he offered, blinking a few times.

"That doesn't matter. Most people who meet me do not challenge me," Thorin declared with all the certainty that came from being blue blooded.

He rolled his eyes. "Probably because they know you'll glare at them if you do."

"That's not why. They do not speak up either out of respect or fear. You hold me in neither regard." The dwarf sounded confident in his words. "So why do you defy my orders and question me at every turn?"

_Because I know who you really are under that cold front you put up? Because I've seen you risk your life for the others time and time again? Because I've seen you cover up your sleeping nephews with your own coat when they were cold? Because I've seen you take an arrow for Ori because you reasoned you could handle it better than him?_

_Because I want to see you smile genuinely at me again?_

"Because I want to see the real you," he said quietly. "Because I want to know Thorin and not the King Under the Mountain."

Thorin's eyes widened and he took a step back as if his words had physically overwhelmed him.

"Why? Why would you want such a thing?" he questioned, his voice a deep rasp.

_Because you are the one I hold most dear. Because you somehow got under my skin in a way that no one—not even the elves I admired so—managed to do. Because my heart is a foolish and soft thing that will not let you go no matter how much time passes._

But he did not speak any of those words.

Instead he shrugged and gave a simple smile. "Because we are comrades on a great quest, and if you would welcome it, I would see us forge a friendship on this journey."

Thorin simply stared at him as if he had just offered to bring him the sun and the moon.

"You…" he began but did not finish. Instead he shook his head, his face as troubled and lost as the day Bilbo had betrayed him with the Arkenstone. It made his heart ache to see such a look again.

"We should go back to the others. I'm sure they're wondering where we are," he said, silently giving the dwarf a chance to end the conversation.

Thorin took it with a look of relief. "Indeed. Let's go."

Neither of them spoke again.


	8. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**C**hapter **S**even

* * *

Fíli was a thinker.

When they had been children, his mother used to say that Fíli was the brains and Kíli the heart. That if they were to fall in love, Kíli would simply love unconditionally without question while Fíli would question the very meaning of love and would try to define it. As a child, he had not enjoyed being defined as the 'bookish one' by others but as he grew up he came to accept it.

There was no use in lying to yourself after all.

Fíli _was_ the 'bookish one' when it came down to it. He was the one that would obediently practice writing his letters while Kíli fell asleep next to him. He was the one that bothered their uncle with a million questions about swordplay while Kíli actually practiced with the swords. He was the one who sat with their mother and listened to her as she quietly explained how to properly wrap a wire.

He never considered himself very bright or particularly gifted, but he did so enjoy using his mind. He loved to ponder about why things happened the way they did, or what made a person act the way they acted. He enjoyed asking questions and learning the answers and pondering on them.

Kíli could be satisfied with life the way it was, but Fíli constantly found himself asking, _why?_

_Why did people die?_

_Why was the sky blue?_

_What made his hair gold?_

_Why did the seasons change?_

_Why did his body need sleep?_

_Why did Bilbo Baggins look so sad sometimes?_

The last question was his newest mystery.

Bilbo Baggins was interesting for a hobbit. He loved to eat, knew the raunchiest drinking songs, and could hold his own against an angry Thorin. Kíli adored him for those traits alone, but Fíli liked him better for his dry humor, unnoticed thoughtfulness, and fierceness in battle.

But he didn't like the looks.

Sometimes, usually at night when everyone was eating or chatting, Mister Baggins would get the saddest look on his face. It wasn't like the ingrained look of pain that Thorin would wear whenever he was reminded of Erebor, or even the laughing flinches that Kíli would put on whenever someone mocked him for his appearance. Instead it resembled the quiet grief that his mother would wear whenever the subject of his father was brought up.

He understood that it was a sadness that came from loss. Not the loss of a home or a possession or a legacy, but the loss of a person. It was the deepest type of loss that he knew of, and it was one that he barely understood because his father died long before he could miss him.

Fíli did not know what Mister Baggins could have lost in his life to invoke such a look. He did not even know what it was about their company that reminded him of such pain. But what he did know was that their hobbit was sad at times and it was not known why. So like with most mysteries in his life, Fíli would discover the reason why.

He just hoped he didn't regret it.

* * *

They lingered in Rivendell for a week.

From his memory, Bilbo knew that they were waiting for the moon so that Lord Elrond could finish reading the map. He also knew that soon the White Council would gather to question Gandalf about their company and Saruman would attempt to stop them. He did not know how it would go this time around without Radagast and the Morgul-blade there to distract them. He could only hope that Gandalf was tricky enough to stall for time as they made their escape.

What he was more focused on was Radagast.

The wizard had not shown up this time around and it alarmed him. He did not know how severe the consequences would be in the long run, but he understood the consequences for the present. If Gandalf did not confront the Necromancer, then who would stop him? And more importantly, how would they learn of Sauron's future return?

They were troubling thoughts and they weighed him down like stones. He recounted everything he had done since starting the journey, and could not find a single moment where he could have possibly changed things enough to keep Radagast from appearing. And even if he miscalculated and was the reason for Radagast's disappearance, it still did not explain where the wizard was now.

For the first time since he started his journey for the second time, Bilbo wished he had someone to speak to about his troubles. He was used to keeping secrets and he guarded his thoughts and dreams as fiercely as Smaug guarded his (stolen) treasure. Becoming Frodo's guardian had also taught him that he had to present a strong and unwavering figure for the lad. But now, for the first time in many years, he found himself longing to speak to someone about his thoughts and concerns.

_You're being very whiny about this whole thing_, he chided himself sternly as he sat upon a bench under a graceful willow tree. _You decided to take this task upon yourself and you must deal with it._

So lost in his thoughts, he failed to notice he wasn't alone until someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Bilbo looked up and found himself face to face with Bifur as the dwarf took a seat next to him.

"Oh. Hello, Master Bifur," he greeted without much thought. "Lovely day is it not?"

The dwarf nodded and said something in Khuzdul that he couldn't begin to understand. But from the pleasant look on his face, he took it to mean that the dwarf agreed.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, only now realizing that he did not see the others around. Since coming to Rivendell his companions had taken to sticking together and avoiding splitting up. Even Ori, Fíli and Kíli had taken to keeping him company on his walks in an attempt not to leave him alone with elves. It was both sweet and aggravating.

Bifur shrugged again and gestured to the trail and then pointed to the hobbit and then said something in Khuzdul. He translated it to mean 'It's my turn to babysit you today.'

"You don't have to follow me you know. I doubt the elves will pay a simple hobbit any mind," he pointed out.

Bifur scoffed and pointed to a scar on his arm with a look.

"Yes, I know that they didn't help you when Smaug attacked. But these elves are quite different from the ones that did that," he reasoned.

His response was a snort and a rude hand gesture that he hadn't seen in years.

Bilbo shook his head in fond exasperation. "You dwarves are so stubborn. It's a wonder you get anything done."

Bifur simply grinned and puffed his chest out slightly.

The hobbit watched the older dwarf as he began to pull out a pipe and light it up. The first time around he had found Bifur to be a bit much with his gestures and Khuzdul. It had taken him nearly half the journey before he realized that, though the dwarf did not speak anything but Khuzdul, he still understood every word spoken to him.

"Do you ever get frustrated, Master Bifur, when others call you stupid simply because you speak in Khuzdul?" he asked.

Bifur shook his head, his expression calm. He said something in Khuzdul and then shrugged lazily. He translated this to roughly mean, 'Idiots are everywhere; what can you do?'

"You're right. You can't change the way others think," he admitted, recalling his own stubborn and stupid relatives. "I wish I remembered that when I was younger. It would have saved me a lot of trouble."

The dwarf snickered.

"Yes, yes, laugh it up. It's funny now but it wasn't then. I was such a fool when I was younger," he said, thinking back on how he acted the first time he embarked on the journey. "I suppose I'm still somewhat foolish now, but I like to believe that I've gotten a little wiser over the years."

Bifur nodded while saying something in Khuzdul. He gestured to his forehead where the axe was and then made a gesture with his hands. When Bilbo gave him a blank look, he huffed and repeated the gesture until the hobbit realized that the dwarf was recalling his own mistakes made in his youth, and how the biggest one cost him part of his mind.

"It must be aggravating not being able to speak to me properly," he realized, wondering why he had not thought of this earlier. "Master Bifur, I know that you would not dare teach me Khuzdul, but could you perhaps teach me the signs you use? This way we could actually hold a proper conversation instead of me guessing at everything you do."

Bifur stared at him with wide eyes for a moment before a large grin broke out across his face. He then began to gesture animatedly with his hands and began to chatter in an unbroken chain of words that the hobbit couldn't even begin to understand.

Bilbo laughed and felt his heart lighten at the simple joy the older dwarf displayed at such a request. He still did not know what to do about Radagast's disappearance, the White Council, or even the Necromancer. But at that moment he wanted to forget for a moment and simply enjoy learning to understand his old friend in a new way.

"Okay, okay let's start with the basics first. What is the sign for 'hello'?"

* * *

Three days later they left Rivendell behind.

Bilbo did not know what tricks Gandalf had to use this time around in order to distract the White Council, but he was grateful the wizard was so canny. They managed to slip away in the night much like the first time around; slipping through the corridors like thieves and shadows. When they began their descent, Bilbo could not resist turning around like the first time for one last glimpse of the beautiful city that was once his home.

But this time he did not need Thorin's voice to tear him away.

_Onto the mountains and goblins and the ring now,_ he declared to himself, and followed the rest of his comrades onward.


	9. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**C**hapter **E**ight

* * *

The Misty Mountains.

If there was ever a place in Middle Earth that Bilbo would have been happy never to see again, it would have been that mountain range. He could see it from the distance already and the sight of it made his stomach twist into knots.

—_all he can focus on is the cold. It is the type of cold that he has never felt in all his years. It is a cold that burns when it touches his skin, makes every breath hurt, and turns every joint in his body stiff_—

"Is there really no other way than this mountain?" he asked Bombur sourly as they lingered in the back of the company.

"Well, one could go _around_ the mountain if they were up to it," the cook answered. "But it takes a lot longer."

"And we don't have time to spare," added Óin from his other side.

Bilbo frowned. The first time around he had never given much thought to the reason why their journey was made in haste besides for the obvious reason of the door. But now he found himself curious as to what the cause could possibly be.

"Why is it so important for us to get to the mountain as quick as possible?" he asked aloud.

"Because others have heard the rumors that Smaug may be dead or gone and are seeking our wealth. We must hurry to beat them," Bombur explained calmly.

"Besides, we've been waiting for decades to reclaim our home. We will wait no longer," Óin added with a fierce scowl that could rival Dwalin's on a bad day.

"Ahh, that makes sense." He nodded thoughtfully before another question formed from the answer. "But who would want to challenge a rumor of a possible dead dragon just for gold?"

"When it comes to greed, there are no depths that one will not go to satisfy their lust," Óin replied. "We dwarves know it well. It is a fine line we walk between greed and passion. It is one we must always tread with caution."

—_there is a look in Thorin's eyes that he does not know. He has never seen those blue eyes darken so greatly nor become so detached from any sort of life. He follows the king's gaze and finds it is on the Arkenstone and feels himself turn cold_—

_I think I understand what you mean_, Bilbo thought, glancing to the front of the company where Thorin led them on.

_I think I understand quite well._

* * *

It was dark when they finally reached the mountain.

It was agreed that they would rest for the night before beginning the journey through the mountain. Camp was set up and everyone began to attend to their own needs duties and needs. Without anything to do, Bilbo found himself a snug nook to curl up and watched his dwarves go about their business.

It was a silly and overly sentimental thing for him to do, but he found that he enjoyed watching his comrades more than he did speaking to them. He enjoyed watching Bombur become engrossed in his cooking while Ori scribbled in his book and smeared ink on his cheeks every time he pushed a braid out of his eyes. He liked to memorize the melody that Dwalin hummed to himself while cleaning his weapons, and the sound of Kíli's laughter as he teased his brother.

_I have become the old man I swore I would never be_, he admitted to himself, snorting and shaking his head.

"Something funny, Master Burglar?"

Bilbo glanced up to the dwarf that had joined him and shook his head with a grin. "Simply laughing at myself, Master Bofur."

"Often times that is the best thing to laugh at," Bofur agreed, taking a seat next to him. In his hands he held a small, curved knife and a piece of unmarked wood.

"What are you making?" he asked, nodding to the knife and wood.

Bofur shrugged as he made himself comfortable next to the hobbit. "Don't know yet. Maybe a whistle. Maybe a toy. Maybe even a figurine. We'll see when we get there."

"Hmm." He watched the dwarf as he fiddled with the knife before a thought occurred to him.

"Master Bofur? May I ask you a question?"

"Only if you call me by my name and without titles," the other answered with a dimple grin.

He chuckled. "Very well. Bofur, why is it that you are a toymaker but your brother is a cook? I thought that most dwarven families go into the same trade."

Bofur clucked his tongue and glanced across the camp to Bombur. "That's true enough. Bombur and I_ did_ start out as toymakers back in Erebor. We were even preparing to take over our father's shop, and maybe even open up another."

"So what happened?"

"Well…There was this dwarven lass. She worked in the palace kitchens and used to walk past our store every day on her way to work and back," Bofur said quietly, his eyes darkening in memory. "I remember that she used to keep her brown curls tied back with blue ribbons that matched her eyes. She probably could have had any dwarf she wanted but the only one she ever seemed to want was Bombur."

"Oh," he said, unsure what else he could say. "And did he… want her back?"

Bofur smiled a smile of unspoken memories. "Oh, yes. My brother did not just love her; he worshiped her. She was his stone and jewels and gold and everything precious. They were so very happy together, and I swear I have never seen anyone so well matched as them two."

Bilbo felt his throat tighten. "What happened to her?"

"Smaug came and Erebor fell. She fell with it. And my brother was never the same again." Bofur finally looked at him and it was with the face of one who had seen too much death to be changed by it now.

"We dwarves… We each deal with our grief differently. Some of us throw ourselves into battle. Others thrown themselves into drink. Bombur threw himself into food because it reminds him of her. That is why he is the cook and I am the toymaker now," the dwarf finished softly.

Bilbo did not know what to say. He never knew that Bombur had been married or the real reason why he loved food so much. It made him realize even more that there was so much he did not know of his companions and the lives they had led before. And it drove home how much they all truly lost thanks to Smaug.

"I cannot imagine how he must feel," he said quietly. "To have known that type of joy and then to have lost it… How do you go on?"

That was certainly true. He knew what it was like to grieve for a lost love but his grief was a one sided one. He never knew what it felt to love and be loved in return only to lose it all.

"You learn to live with it," the dwarf advised, returning to his woodwork. "It changes you and you will never be the same. but you can't let it define you. Because once you do then you will lose yourself to that moment, that memory, forevermore."

The words were wise and knowing and sent a chill down his spine.

"Bofur… What did you lose when Erebor fell?" he wondered in a soft voice.

Bofur snorted and did not look away from his carving. "I think the better question would be what did I _not _lose, Master Baggins."

Bilbo did not ask any more questions that night.

* * *

The next morning they began their climb.

It was a slow and rough affair. The High Path, no matter how well used, was not the easiest road to walk. It was a rocky and steep climb up the mountain and took longer than he remembered it taking the first time around. Everyone was on guard for orcs and goblins and Bilbo was greatly tempted to tell them not to bother worrying for their greatest threat would come as they slept.

Then, as night fell, the Stone Giants began their fight.

He had forgotten, over the many years, exactly how frightening the climb was with those great creatures fighting overhead. The rain and thunder could not drown out the sound of their stone flesh hitting one another, and no matter how much he pressed himself back against the mountain he found that he could not escape the stones that rained down on him.

"We need to get to shelter!" Balin yelled from somewhere near the middle of the group.

"Agreed!" Thorin yelled back. "Stay together until then!"

Bilbo glanced up and realized that the fight between the giants was getting more heated. Quickly he eased himself back against the mountain until there was space for the others to walk, and then nodded to the dwarves who walked behind him.

"Go on ahead of me!" he yelled over the weather and giants.

"Why?" Fíli yelled back even as he nudged his brother onward. Kíli slid past the hobbit without question with Ori trailing him.

"I have a better grip with my bare feet and can move faster!" he explained. "The rest of you don't with your boots! So go ahead and stay together and I will follow!"

That was only partly true. He did have a better grip with his feet and he did want the group to stay together, but it was in order to avoid what happened last time. Though things turned out fine, he did not want to risk them getting stuck between two quarreling Stone Giants again.

Fíli looked skeptic but did not get a chance to argue as Dwalin, who stood behind him, nudged him on the shoulder. "Just do as he says! Keep moving!"

Fíli sighed and followed Ori without another complaint. Dwalin soon followed with a grave nod to Bilbo that he translated to mean 'Thanks for protecting the stubborn prince.'

He nodded back and leaned further into the rough rocks so the larger dwarf had more room to walk. After him followed Bofur and then Nori who were both huddled under their cloaks in a futile attempt to hide from the rain. Only once they were past him did he finally breathe a sigh of relief and followed the group.

They trudged on through the rain and fighting. Bilbo found himself constantly glancing up at the giants above them; watching and measuring their every move in hopes that he could time when they needed to leap to safer grounds. But it was difficult to spot them with the rain and darkness.

_It is only a bit further_, he thought to himself, _and then the one we stand on should move and_—

Then the stone before him began to move.

He stumbled back before he caught himself with his hands. When he looked up, he found that the giant had broken off from the mountain and was moving. Most of the group was stuck on the giant's leg but his attention was not on them. It was instead narrowed on Fíli, Dwalin, Bofur and Nori who were still before him and not on the giant.

"Jump onto the giant!" he yelled but his voice was lost to the wind and thunder.

Bilbo began to move closer to them, hoping that they could still time it right and maybe manage to get to the other side before the giant crumbled. But before he had even taken two steps he found the ground beneath him crumbling and on instinct he jumped back just in time as—

—he caught sight of Fíli's wide blue eyes one last time—

—the ledge crumbled into ruins and the dwarves standing on it fell into the darkness below.


	10. Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

**C**hapter **N**ine

* * *

Kíli was not stupid.

He knew that, between him and Fíli, his older brother had won all the brains. He was the one who always had his nose in the books when they were younger, and the one who Thorin always discussed strategies and history and politics with. For a long time it had bothered him that his uncle never wanted to speak about such things with him but, just like his odd appearance, he had grown to accept it. In time he even began to realize that, while Thorin never spoke to him about court traditions, he _did_ tell him stories of his youth and the different jobs he took on and lands he had seen, and Kíli was content with that.

But the point was that he was not stupid. Fíli was smarter than him, yes, and while it was true that he could be oblivious to some things, Kíli did not believe he was stupid.

He just didn't like to think.

Honestly, he believed that thinking was silly and a waste of his time. He had grown up listening to Fíli always question everything around them from how babes were made to why a flower smelt sweet. His brother could never be content with things being just the way they were. He always had to know everything about it.

Kíli didn't get it. Did it really matter why a flower smelt sweet? Was it not enough that it simply _did_? And why would he care how a babe came into the world? Was it not enough that they existed and made the world better? Honestly, he didn't care about questions or answers because he was too busy enjoying the way a flower smelt and how soft a babe was.

Sometimes he couldn't help but think that his brother, in his constant need to understand, was missing out on the point of something altogether.

It was the same way with Bilbo.

Kíli knew—because he was _not_ stupid, _thank you_—that most of their company found the hobbit a bit strange. He was a bit too friendly, a bit too brave, and a bit too eager to help them. This was not normal behavior and it made them suspicious and mistrustful.

But Kíli didn't care. He liked Mister Boggins and his funny smiles and dry comments. He was willing to give him a chance even if his uncle didn't want to. He was willing to overlook all the suspicion and would simply enjoy spending time with the hobbit and the rest of their comrades.

Because Kíli was not stupid and he knew that sometimes, just sometimes, you had to trust your heart over your mind.

* * *

Bilbo could not breathe.

He literally could not catch his breath or make his lungs work. It was as if someone had sucked all the air out of his chest and left him gasping. He actually began to feel lightheaded and had to lean against the mountain in order not to faint.

In the distance, over the rain and thunder and clash of stone flesh, he thought he could hear a scream. It was piercing and high and it took him longer than normal to realize that it was Kíli. Forcing himself to look away from where the dwarfs had disappeared— _Fíli, Dwalin, Bofur, Nori, oh no, nonono_**no**—he found that the rest of the company safe on the other side, and staring on with horror.

His eyes singled out Dori holding Ori to his chest with a desperate grip; shielding his brother's eyes and shaking his head as if in denial. Behind them he could make out the figures of Bombur and Bifur; the cook holding his cousin back as the other tried to make his way to the edge. Finally he spotted Kíli, who was screaming for his brother and also being forcibly held back by Glóin and Thorin. When the king met his gaze, he quickly looked away; unable to face what he knew would be written in those blue eyes.

—_Thorin's eyes look like they are cut from stone; they are such a hard and frigid blue as he curses him out and banishes him from Erebor and ends their friendship. The accusation that burns in them hurts almost as much as his words_—

_This is my fault,_ he thought, feeling as if he was going to throw up. _This is all my fault. Oh, what have I done? What have I _**done**_?!_

If he had the chance, he would have fallen to his knees and wept over his failure. But the Stone Giants were not about to stop their fight for a little hobbit. The rock he still stood upon—_the one the others should have been on,_ his mind reminded spitefully—began to move and he found himself clinging to the slippery surface desperately.

It was a much harder feat this time around to hang onto the giant without the aid of his comrades, but Bilbo was determined that this would not be the end for him. He dug his fingernails into the unforgiving stone and braced his feet and knees the best he could and hung on. He eyed the distance between him and the rest of him comrades and when he judged it right, he pushed himself off the giant and leaped to the other cliff.

He did not reach it.

Bilbo's fingers grazed the barest hint of stone—slick and smooth from constant rain and travel—and then before he realized it, he was falling and falling and then—

Everything went black.

* * *

Bilbo awoke to darkness, pain and the intense brown gaze of a dwarf.

"Master Baggins, are you awake?" Dwalin—bloody and dirty but _alive_ Dwalin—asked him when he opened his eyes.

He stared at the dwarf for a moment as he slowly came to his senses. His head and left arm hurt something fierce and he could just barely see into the darkness around him, but none of that was important because Dwalin was _alive_.

"You're not dead," he whispered as something tight in his chest eased up.

Dwalin looked mildly offended. "Of course not. You think a little fall off a mountain is going to do me in? I'm a _dwarf_."

"Of course. Of course, I should not have presumed the worst," he admitted, slowly sitting up and gazing around them. He could see nothing clearly in the darkness but what he could make out was that they were in a narrow cave of some sort. He also realized that they were alone.

"Where are the others?" Bilbo asked, looking back to the dwarf before him.

Dwalin's lips became a thin line on his face. "Don't know. I fell down further than they did. Most likely they are above us on some ledge."

Bilbo glanced above them and could barely make out the large crack that they both must have fallen through. "Do you think we can climb up and find them?"

"If I was alone? Yes. But with you here?" The warrior snorted and shook his head. "Not bloody likely."

"Then leave me here and go on alone and find the others," he suggested.

Dwalin just looked at him as if he was stupid. "I'm not leaving an injured hobbit alone in a cave on the side of a mountain. You're liable to get eaten or fall off stumbling around in the dark."

"I can protect myself well enough and I'm not dumb enough to move around injured," he argued, feeling a bit offended. He was not a lad and could take care of himself after all. "It is more important for you to find the others and make sure they're safe."

Dwalin's frown grew even more severe. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Put the rest of us above yourself. We are neither kin nor friend yet you act as if you would die for us. Why?" the dwarf asked bluntly, still frowning harshly at him.

Bilbo bit his lower lip. He could think of a dozen lies of why he put his comrades in front of himself but he knew that none of them would have satisfied Dwalin. The warrior wanted simply the truth and that was the one answer he could not give.

"Because… I could not live with myself if I did not do everything in my power to see that you all lived to reclaim your home," he answered slowly.

"You care that much about our quest? But you are not even a dwarf," Dwalin pointed out with a raised brow. "Why should you care if we get home or not?"

"Compassion and understanding is not limited to species," he pointed out. "I do not need to be a dwarf to understand what it's like to want to go home."

Dwalin stared at him for a long time before slowly shaking his head. "You are a rare sort, Mister Burglar. If only… well, it does not matter. In fact it makes it even clearer to me that I need to stay with you. You are much too soft to survive out here alone."

Bilbo wanted to bang his head against the stone around them. Only the fact that his head already hurt kept him from doing so. "This is ridiculous. I am not in any danger here but the same could not be said for the others—"

"The others are trained and experienced in surviving these sorts of matters," Dwalin interrupted without hesitation. "They are also most likely still together or will be able to find each other easier than we would. Not stop arguing with me and let me think about how we're going to get out of here _together_."

The hobbit huffed and leaned back against the cold rocks behind him. "Fine, but try not to hurt yourself."

Dwalin simply ignored him.

With nothing more to do, Bilbo closed his eyes and tried his best to focus on the pain in order not to think. But it was hard. He found that his minds could not erase the image of Fíli's wide eyes or the sound of Kíli's screams. He could not ignore the truth that he had caused… that one of his comrades was possibly…

"This is all my fault," he said out loud as if it would somehow make him feel better.

It didn't.

In front of him he heard Dwalin snort. "Don't be daft. You could not have known that the giant would have moved. Do not waste your time wallowing in self pity."

_But I did_ know, he argued back in his head. _I knew_ exactly _what was going to happen and I_ still _screwed up. What… What do I do now? How will I face the others knowing that I… that I possibly killed their brothers and friends?_

To his frustration, he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. He tried to quickly wipe them away before his companion could notice, but he was too late.

"Hey, don't you start bawlin' on me!" Dwalin ordered, pointing a finger at him. "We don't have time for tears here. We gotta find a way out and back to the others. So quit wallowing in guilt and get it together!"

Bilbo nodded, pushing back his emotions and trying to become clear headed. "Of course, of course. I'm sorry, just frustrated by my own stupidity."

"Still no reason for you to cry," the dwarf grumbled in return.

"I know. I just… I thought of having to face the others, and telling them that their brother or friend is not coming back. I don't think I could do it," he admitted quietly.

Dwalin said nothing to that.

"I think it would be worse telling Kíli," he continued, not sure why he was still talking but knowing he did not want to stop. "The others, they seem used to loss or at least have someone else. But Kíli… I heard him screaming before I fell. He… He sounded like his world was falling down around him. And I couldn't even face Thorin when he… when he looked at me."

He had never understood the relationship between the two brothers, but he admired the strength of such a bond. It was the type of bond that came from living a life where half your world was made up of another person. He had only seen such a relationship one other time in his life and that was between Pippin and Merry.

To kill Fíli was to kill Kíli.

"I do not know what Kíli would do if he lost his brother," Dwalin admitted quietly. "For his entire life he has always had Fíli by his side. I don't think he would know how to live without him there."

Bilbo found that idea both sad and sweet. "What… What do you think Thorin will do? If he were to lose Fíli."

Dwalin sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Don't know. Thorin is built of a different sort of stone than his nephews. He certainly treasures his sister's sons very much—"

"He loves them as if they were his own sons," he corrected because he knew such a love with Frodo and recognized it easily enough in others. "His smiles are saved for only Fíli and he gives his laughter to Kíli alone."

For once, Dwalin looked surprised. "You noticed that?"

He snorted. "Of course. How could I not? Your king spends most of his time looking as if he's been sucking on lemons. It's rather obvious to notice when he smiles or laughs."

"Thorin has every reason to be so serious. He's got a lot weighing on him with this quest," Dwalin scolded with a rough frown that could not hide the worry in his eyes.

Bilbo felt a pinch of guilt at that. "You're correct. My apologies. I do not mean to insult your king, but try to understand that I have not seen anything but mistrust and scorn from him. It is hard to respect him when he shows me none."

The dwarf seemed to relax at that. "True enough. He's always been suspicious of outsiders. Give him a reason to trust you and he will soon enough."

Once that would have been true, but Bilbo remembered the look in Fíli's eyes and the sound of Kíli's scream and was no longer sure that was possible now.

* * *

Bilbo did not know how long they sat there resting before Dwalin finally decided it was time to escape their cave.

"We will need to venture into the mountain to get out of here," the dwarf instructed, pointing into the darkness to next to them.

Bilbo squinted into the pitch black before him but could see nothing that hinted that the darkness would lead them further into the mountain. "Are you sure about that? How do you know that doesn't lead to a dead end? Or a wall?"

"Again, burglar, I'm a _dwarf_; I have a sense for the stone," the warrior reminded, rolling his eyes. "Now come along. I will go first and you follow behind me, understood?"

He waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes, I will follow you."

Dwalin grunted and heaved himself up to his feet. The cave was high enough that he did not need to bend his knees but it was narrow enough to force the hobbit to lean back against the stone in order to avoid getting squashed.

"Are you sure we can't just climb?" he wondered yet again as the dwarf moved deeper into the darkness and gave him room to finally stand.

"Stop whining and keep up," Dwalin answered, ignoring his question.

The hobbit rolled his eyes but quickly moved closer to the dwarf. He could not see very well in the darkness and did not wish to lose track of his companion.

"I'm going to hang onto your cloak so we don't get separated," he informed the dwarf, grabbing hold of the soggy green cloth.

"Fine. At least this way you won't get lost," Dwalin admitted as he led them on into the mountain.

Bilbo did not know how long they walked in the darkness. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest the whole time, and he gripped his comrade's cloak so tightly that his hand began to eventually ache. He was uncomfortable and unsure about venturing into something so unknown, and he didn't like that he had no control over where he was being led. The only comfort he found was the knowledge that Dwalin seemed to know where he was going, and did not seem bothered by the lack of light or the unknown facing them.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity and a half, they reached the end.

"See, I told you that I would not lead us wrong," Dwalin boasted, giving him a smirk over his shoulder.

Bilbo nodded absently, not really paying attention to the dwarf. His attention was taken up by the grand and watery cavern they had entered. The very _familiar_ cavern.

_This place… Could it be…?_

He moved deeper into the cavern, his eyes searching for a familiar island set in the middle of the gleaming underground lake. Behind him he could hear Dwalin still speaking.

"I think I can find a path to the surface from here. Just stay close and I will—"

There was a sound of a crack and a thump, and when Bilbo spun around he found his companion collapsed on the ground with blood leaking from the back of his head.

"Dwalin!" he yelled, moving to his side and quickly checking to make sure the warrior was alive. At the corner of his eye he noticed a large rock with blood and leaned down to inspect it. As he did, he spotted a white figure moving at the corner of his eye and quickly spun around to face the attacker.

"Gollum!" he yelled, one hand going for Sting as he pushed himself up. "Come out, you little blighter!"

There was a moment of complete silence where he wondered if perhaps he was imaging things. Then a small crackle of stones had him spinning around and left him facing the creature Gollum for the first time in eighty years.

"It knows our name, precious," the creature—and it would always be a creature to him, no matter what stories Frodo told him of it being a hobbit once—said, staring up at him with horribly familiar eyes.

—_his greatest memory of Gollum is always the eyes. Those large eyes that are the color of the lake when it is frozen during winter. They reflect a world of madness that could never be healed or understood. Those eyes haunt him most because he knows that they could have easily been his if he had kept the ring_—

"I know your name," he agreed, leveling Sting straight at the small and bony figure.

"How does its knows our name?" Gollum asked, seemingly unafraid of the sword. It began to circle him slowly and Bilbo moved himself so that he stood between the ring bearer and the unconscious dwarf.

"I know many things about you," he admitted, watching the creature carefully.

Gollum paused and tilted its head to the side and stared. "What does it knows, precious? What secrets does it tells?"

Bilbo thought for a moment before the answer came to him. "I know that you hold something important. Something that I need."

The reaction was instant.

He barely managed to bring his blade up in time to catch the small scavenger as it threw itself at him with an unexpected strength and speed. As it was, he could barely fight off the long and bony fingers that struggled to wrap around his throat.

"Thief! Thief! Its wills not take yous from us, precious!" Gollum screeched, eyes narrowed and dark.

"You don't know the consequences of owning that ring," he snarled back, bracing his feet and using all of his strength to push the creature back.

Gollum paid no mind to his words and simply came at him again. He dodged the spidery figure and spun around and brought the blunt edge of the hilt down soundly on Gollum's head with as much strength as he could.

Gollum collapsed to the ground and did not move.

Bilbo watched the pale figure for a moment longer, his breathing heavy and his heart racing. Once sure that it was unconscious (or dead; either was fine with him) he moved back to Dwalin's side. The dwarf had an impressive lump forming on the back of his head and the skin had been ripped open from the rock, but he was alive and whole. When he realized that he felt a wave of relief engulf him.

_I will not lose this one yet_, he thought, pulling out his handkerchief (which he recalled _this_ time) and beginning to clean up the bloody mess. _I can only hope that I can say the same for the others._

When the hobbit was finished caring for his unconscious companion, he turned his eyes back to their attacker and pondered what to do. Part of him, a very large part, wanted to end the creature right then and there. Bilbo would never forget the sight of Frodo's mutilated hand, or the nightmarish adventure he had undergone thanks to Gollum. Killing the wretched beast was the only sure way he had to protect his nephew. But another part of him, the levelheaded and sensible and decidedly Baggins part, disagreed because in the end it had been Gollum who had destroyed the ring.

_If I fail in my quest then it may be up to Frodo and Gollum again_, he admitted to himself no matter how much it killed him. He wanted nothing more than to save Frodo from his fate but destiny always seemed to have a mind of her own.

So, with great regret, Bilbo spared Gollum's life for the first (second) time.

With nothing more pressing to distract him, Bilbo turned his attention on the one thing he had been intentionally avoiding: the one ring. Slowly, he rolled Gollum over and reached into the small pocket that was nearly hidden beneath tear and stains. Keeping one eye on the still unconscious creature, he reached into the pocket and grasped the cold ring with a shudder.

—_the ring is always a quiet whisper in the back of his mind. It is never loud or demanding but it is always there. It whispers promises to him. Promises of desires that he dares not think of. It taunts him with power and wealth and the ability to bring back what he wants most. He ignores it and ignores it until finally one day he finds that he cannot ignore it anymore_—

Bilbo shuddered again and sat back with the ring grasped tightly in his hand. He did not want to look at it or recall the days he spent under its spell. He did not want to recall the rush he got when wearing it or the power he felt when he controlled it. What he wanted most was to throw it into the water and never look at it again.

But he didn't.

Instead, he lifted his hand and held the simple band of gold before him. "So… we meet again."

And the ring—_beautiful, wretched, accursed thing, it took the light from Frodo's eyes_—began to whisper.

_Bilbo Baggins…_


End file.
